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SEVEN CHANCES 


By ROI COOPER MEGRUE 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St., New York 



Polly anna 

The glad play, by Catherine Chisholm Cashing:, after the 
novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5 males, 6 females. 2 interiors. 
Costumes, modern. Flays 2% hours. An orphan girl is thrust 
into the home of a maiden aunt. In spite of the trials that 
beset her, she manages to find something to be glad about, and 
brings light into sunless lives. Finally Pollyanna straightens 
out the love affairs of her elders, and finds happiness for herself 
in Jimmy. “Pollyanna” gives a better appreciation of people 
and the world. It reflects the humor and humanity that gave 
the story such wonderful popularity among young and old. 

Produced in New York, and for two seasons on tour. Royalty, 
$25.00. Price, 75 cents. 

Martha By-the-Day 

An optimistic comedy in 3 acts, by Julie M. Uppmann, author 
of the “Martha” stories. 5 males, 5 females. 3 interiors. Cos¬ 
tumes, modern. Plays 2 V 2 hours. 

Full of quaint humor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the 
kind that people who see the play will recall and chuckle over 
tomorrow and the next day. 

Miss Iiippmann has herself adapted her successful book for 
the stage and has selected from her novel the most telling 
incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Royalty, $25. 
Price, 60 cents* 

Seventeen 

A comedy of youth, in 4 acts, by Booth Tarkington. 8 males, 
6 females. 1 exterior, 2 interiors. Costumes, modem. Plays 
%Vz hours. 

It is the tragedy of William Sylvanus Baxter that he has 
ceased to be sixteen and is not yet eighteen. Seventeen is not 
an age, it is a disease. 

In his heart William knows all the tortures and delights of 
love. But he is still sent by his mother on errands of the most 
humiliating sort and depends on his father for every nickel, 
the use of which he must justify before he gets it. 

“Silly” BiH fell in lcve with Lola, the “Baby-Talk Cady,” 
a vapid little flirt. To woo her in a manner worthy of himself 
(and of her) he steals his father’s evening clothes. When hi* 
wootngs become a nuisance to the neighborhood, his mother 
steals them back, and has them let out to fit the middle-aged 
form of her husband, thereby keeping William at home. 

But when it comes to the “Baby-Talk Rady's” good-bye 
dance, not to be present was unendurable. Now William again 
gets the dress suit, and how he wears it at the party, and 
Genesis discloses the fact that the proud garment is in reality 
his father’s makes up the story of the play. 

“Seventeen” is a work of exquisite human sympathy and 
delicious humor. Royalty, $25.00. Price, 75 cents. 


SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed 
Free on Request * 




I 


SEVEN CHANCES 


A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

BY 

ROI COOPER MEGRUE 

\\ 


All Rights Reserved 

CAUTION.—Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that “SEVEN CHANCES/’ being fully protected under 
the copyright laws of . the United States of America, 
Great Britain, the Dominion of Canada, and other coun¬ 
tries of the world, is subject to a royalty, and anyone 
presenting the play without the consent of the author or 
his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by 
law provided. Applications for the amateur acting rights 
must be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York. Applications for the professional acting 
rights must be made to David Belasco, Belasco Theatre, 
New York City, N. Y. 


New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 
Publisher 

25 West 45th Street 


London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
26 Southampton Street 
STRAND 





Copyright, 1916, under the title, “The Lucky Fellow,” 
by Roi Cooper Megrue 

Rewritten and revised, 1916, by Roi Cooper Megrue 
Copyright, 1916, under the title, “Seven Chances,” by 
Roi Cooper Megrue 

Duly copyrighted, 1916 and 1924, by Roi Cooper Megrue in 
the United States of America, the Dominion of 
Canada, Great Britain, and by International 
Copyright in all countries subscribing 
to the Berne Convention 

All Rights Reserved 


Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this 
book without a valid contract for production first having 
been obtained from the publisher, confers no right or 
license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc¬ 
tion, recitation or public reading, or radio broadcasting, 
may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel 
French, 25 West 45th StreeVNew York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each performance, 
payable to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New 
York, one week before the date when the play is given. 

. Whenever the play is produced by amateurs the follow¬ 
ing notice must appear on all programs, printing and ad- 
ve . r , tls i ng fo r P^y- “Produced by special arrangement 
with Samuel French of New York.” 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any 
infringement of the author’s rights, as follows: 

Section 4966 :—Any person publicly performing or rep¬ 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of. said dramatic, or musical composition, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such 
damages, m all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less 
than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for 
every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear 
to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation 
be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be 
guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction shall be im¬ 
prisoned for a period not exceeding one year.”—U. S. 
Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. 


v3>CID 6^241 


‘Seven Chances 1 * 


OCT 28 24 




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David Belasco Presents 
“SEVEN CHANCES” 


A New Comedy in Three Acts 

By ROI COOPER MEGRUE 

Produced at the George M. Cohan Theatre, N. Y., Tues¬ 
day Evening, Aug. 8, 1916 

THE CAST 

(Characters in the order of their appearance) 

Earl Goddard . Hayward Ginn 

Joe Spence .. Rowland Lee 

Ralph Denby . Charles Brokate 

Henry Garrison . Harry Leighton 

George . Allan Thomas 

Billy Meekin . Otto Kruger 

Jimmie Shannon . Frank Craven 

Mrs. Garrison . Marion Abbott 

Anne Windsor . Carroll McComas 

Irene Trevor . Beverly West 

Georgianna Garrison . Helen MacKellar 

Lilly Trevor . Anne Meredith 

Peggy Wood . Emily Callaway 

Florence Jones . Florence Deshon 

Betty Willoughby . Alice Carroll 


SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 


Act I. In the Club, Wednesday afternoon, May 


6th. 


Act ' II. In the Club, Thursday, after dinner. 

Act III. Outside the Club—the same night. 

Play produced under the personal supervision of 
David Belasco. 

The author is indebted for a suggestion in a short 
story by Gouvemeur Morris. 


3 

















To 

THAT GRACIOUS, LOVELY LADY 
WHO IS BOTH 

MY BEST AUDIENCE—AND MY MOTHER! 





THE CHARACTERS 
(In the order of their appearance) 


Earl Goddard 
Joe Spence 
Ralph Den by 
Henry Garrison 
George 

Billy Meekin 
Jimmie Shannon 

Betty 


Mrs. Garrison 
Anne Windsor 
Irene Trevor 
Georgian na Garrison 
Lilly Trevor 
Peggy Wood 
Florence Jones 
Willoughby 


SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act I. In the Club, Wednesday afternoon, May 
6th. 

Act II. In the Club, Thursday, after dinner . 

Act III. Outside the Club, the same night. 
























Seven Chances” See Page 7 







































SEVEN CHANCES 


ACT I 


Scene: Inside the Club, Wednesday afternoon, 
May 6th. 

(At rise Goddard and Joe are sitting at table l., 
playing mush; they play twice and Joe speaks.) 

Joe. Ah! 

Goddard. Well, I’m out, Joe. 

Joe. Hang' it— I certainly thought I was going to 
win that time. 

Goddard. Well, unlucky at cards, you know. 

Joe. Yes, but that’s darned poor consolation for 
a dollar and a half. 

Goddard. I wonder where everybody is today. 


(Ralph is heard whistling off r.J 
Joe. All over at the polo game, I guess. 
(Ralph enters from bar r.) 


Ralph. Hello, boys. 

Goddard. (Turns to see who it is) Hello, Ralph. 
Ralph. Have a little drink? (Goes to back of 
table l.c.J 

Goddard. No, thanks. 

Joe. (Shaking his head) It’s too early for a 


7 


8 SEVEN CHANCES 

cocktail. (Goes up to mail box and takes out letter.) 

Ralph. (Sitting on arm of chair back of table 
l.c.) Never too early. Come on, let’s split a small 
pint—imprisoned laughter of the peasant girls of 
F ranee. (Laughs.) 

Goddard. Say, Ralph, have you ever heard that 
when you’re drinking—if you take a spoonful of 
olive oil it’ll keep you sober? 

Ralph. Sure, I’ve heard it. (Rises.) 

Joe. (Coming down r.c.J Then why on earth 
don’t you try it ? 

Ralph. I’m afraid it might work. (And whistl¬ 
ing he goes out l.J 

Joe. (Looking at letter) Lord, I’m posted again! 

Garrison. (Enters r.c. with umbrella, puts hat 
on telephone table and umbrella against wall back of 
table) Hello, boys. 

Joe. Hello, Mr. Garrison. 

Goddard. (Playing solitaire) How are you, 
Garri ? 

Garrison. Don’t ask me—that trip from town is 
the worst in the world—every day I take it I wish I 
lived in the city. (Comes down to chair l. of table 
and sits.) 

Goddard. Well, why don’t you live there? 

Garrison. Because my wife likes the country— 
you know that. 

Goddard. What’s the trouble, old man? 

Garrison. The Court of Appeals gives me a 
fearful pain. 

Goddard. It’d worry ’em awfully if they knew it. 

Garrison. Oh, it’s all right for you to laugh— 
resting around on your two weeks’ vacation—leaving 
me all the hard work at the office. 

Goddard. From your attitude, I take it, it was 
the Stuyvesant case we lost today. 

Garrison. You take it right. 


SEVEN CHANCES 9 

Goddard. Well, I told you we’d get beaten—it was 
a bad claim. 

Garrison. There you go with your “I told you 
so!” You’re getting more like my wife every day. 

Goddard. Go on, be grouchy, Joe. I wouldn’t 
know my esteemed partner if he thought anything 
was ever right—but I like your grouches, Garri—I 
even like you. 

Garrison. That’s it, joke—you didn’t have to run 
around all afternoon shopping for a lot of silly rub¬ 
bish—my wife has more wants than the Sunday 
Herald. 

Goddard. (Looking at watch) Still you man¬ 
aged to catch the 4:10. 

Garrison. Well, I had to run to get it. 

Goddard. What would your wife say? 

Garrison. What would she say? She’d say, 
“Garri, you’re always complaining that you have to 
work so hard—yet you can leave town an hour earlier 
to spend it at that old club of yours. If you’d de¬ 
vote more time to your business, and less to your 
club, you’d be far more successful!” That’s what 
she’d say—only she’d take an hour to say it. 

Goddard. Nonsense—Mrs. Garrison is a very 
charming woman. 

Garrison. Yes, if you’re not married to her. 

Goddard. Come, now, Garri, you know you love 
her. 

Garrison. Now listen—if we go to the theatre— 
“Have I remembered the tickets—and I must wear 
my light coat, there’s a chill in the air!” If I have 
a cold—“I mustn’t forget my aspirin.” If I take a 
drink—“Isn’t it bad for my rheumatism?” If I play 
golf—“Won’t I get my feet wet!” Why, this morn¬ 
ing when I left the house it looked like rain— 
“Where were my rubbers—I must be sure and take 
my umbrella!” There’s the damned thing now—it 
never even showered. 


IO 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Goddard. I’ll bet Mrs. Garrison has her side, too. 

Garrison. You win. 

(Ralph knocks against door l., crosses to r.c.) 

Goddard. There he is again. 

Garrison. Oh, there’s always one in every club. 

Ralph. (Turning and recognising a new victim 

in Garrison) Oh, hello, Garri - (Down r.c.) 

Oh, say, I’ve really got a new one this time—there 

were two fellows going out to shoot ducks-■ Have 

you heard it? 

Goddard. (Turning in his chair to him) Yes— 
but not for twenty years. 

Ralph. (Disappointed) Oh! (Exits whistling 
into bar r.J 

Garrison. I hate to see a young chap like that 
drink in the afternoon. You boys have a cocktail ? 

Joe. Thanks. 

Garrison. What’ll you have? (Presses button 
under table.) 

Joe. Bronx. 


(George enters r.) 

Goddard. Me, too. 

Garrison. Three Bronx—but not too much or¬ 
ange. (George exits r.) 

.Meekin. (Enters r.c. with folded newspaper in 
his hand) Hello, boys. (Comes down and slaps 
Goddard on the back with a folded newspaper which 
he carries. All greet him.) Jimmie been around? 

All. No. 

Meekin. Confound it. I want to see him. 

Joe. Why—anything the matter with Yukon 
Ore? 

Meekin. No—no! I was just wondering when 
the Meyers are going to announce they’ve taken over 





Seven Chances” See Page 11 
































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1 t 






SEVEN CHANCES 


n 


the option. I tried to get Jimmie on the ’phone to¬ 
day, but I couldn’t reach him. 

Garrison. Couldn’t reach him? 

Meekin. Oh, he’s probably out enjoying himself 
somewhere—I’m going to lecture him—he takes 
things too blamed easily. 

Joe. Sit down, Meek. 

Meekin. (Brings down chair from telephone 
table and sits back of table between Joe and God¬ 
dard) You know, our firm is carrying a lot of that 
stock—all on Jimmie’s tip. Yukon went down a 
point today. 

Garrsion. It did ? 

Joe. (Rises) A point—I’m out a hundred dol¬ 
lars. 

Meekin. Well, we’re out nearly two thousand 
dollars—but watch it shoot up tomorrow—watch it 
shoot up next week. 

Jimmie. (Enters r.) Hello, boys. 

Garrison. (Sees him first) Hello, Jimmie. 

Joe. Glad to see you. 

Goddard. Ah, there you are at last. 

Meekin. Say, Jimmie, what do you know about 
Yukon? 

Jimmie. Nothing new, I guess. 

Garrison. It’s off a point. 

Jimmie. (Comes down to back of Goddard at 
table) I know it is—but within three days it’s go¬ 
ing up—way up—just as soon as the Meyers an¬ 
nounce they’ve bought it. 

Meekin. What did I tell you? 

Jimmie. Great Scott, you fellows aren’t worry¬ 
ing, are you ? You don’t think I’d let you in on any¬ 
thing unless I was absolutely positive? 

Joe. (Crossing over to Jimmie l.c.) You still 
think it’s all right? 

Jimmie. Surest ever. 


o 



12 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Joe. Well, Em worried—I’m out a hundred dol¬ 
lars. Say, what are you going to do about it ? 

Jimmie. What do you want me to do? 

Joe. Well, you put us in. 

Jimmie. Well, I’ll get you out—I’ll take the stock 
off your hands. 

Joe. You will? 

JiMMiE r Sure. 

Joe. Well, I guess I’d better keep mine. (Crosses 
l. and sits in chair down l.) 

Jimmie. I tell you— I got the tip straight from 
old man Meyer—you know what he stands for. 

Meekin. Great old man. 

Jimmie. Yes, but every time I talk to Meyer I 
realize how much more intelligent I am than he is. 

Garrison. I dislike hearing a young man earning 
forty dollars a week- 

Jimmie. Fifty. 

Garrison. Well, fifty—talking as if he knew 
more than his boss—it sounds so infernally con¬ 
ceited. 

Jimmie. It’s more than conceited—it’s true— 
still, I have no reputation and he has—it’s a fact he 
made it in i860, but he still has it. You see, his 
ideas are all wrong—my scheme is every now and 
then to do something big—something brilliant—and 
between times let that something earn oodles of 
money for you. 

Meekin. But that isn’t the way to succeed. 

Jimmie, Why, you take any one of our big 
American millionaires—he comes home from a four 
months’ stay in Europe—takes a hasty look around— 
‘‘Why not put a railroad through Yucatan?” Why 
not? He thinks of the idea in ten seconds, tells 
George to do it, rubs his hands, says, “Thank God, 
that’s built!” and goes abroad for another six 
months. 


SEVEN CHANCES 13 

Meekin. But just remember that you’re not one 
of our American millionaires. 

Jimmie. There I must admit, Meek, you are ab¬ 
solutely and unfortunately right. (Crosses to chair 
vacated by Joe. George enters with drinks.) Gee, 
it must be great, though, to do things—big things—* 
not just pike along. (During the following George 
places three cocktails l. of Goddard. Meekin 
passes Garrison’s drink over to Garrison, puts 
check on table , then crosses back of table to Joe, 
who takes drink and George exits l.J 

Garrison. But it’s the fellow who pikes along 
that eventually does do big things. 

Jimmie. Rot—it’s only brains that count. Take 
that steel chap, Hollister—how much did he ever 
plod ? 

Meekin. Well, he’s an exception. 

Jimmie. That’s what I want to be. 

Goddard. Drink, Jimmie? 

Jimmie. No, thanks. (Sits.) Hollister was at 
the office the other day. Waiting to see Meyer, he 
got talking to me. “That’s rather a bright-looking 
office-boy you’ve got.” “Yes,” I said; “he’s a dandy 
kid—pity he can’t go to college—he’d make a great 
lawyer—he’s so fond of it.” “Why don’t we send 
him?” said Hollister—and he did. Think of being 
able to do things like that. Think of being able to 
carry out your own ideas—that’s all that’s worth 
while. Now, I have ideas—but who’d listen to them 
—nobody. Why, I’ll bet that even you, Meek, are 
worrying over Yukon. 

Meekin. Oh—no—I’m not. It’s just that that 
money means a whole lot to me right now. 

Goddard. Marriage, eh, Meeky ? 

Meekin. No, not marriage. Mother! You see, 
she wants me to get out of stocks and get into some¬ 
thing where your nerves aren’t all frazzled at the 
edges, where you can act like a human being at night. 


14 


SEVEN CHANCES 


instead of worrying your head off waiting for the 
market to open in the morning. 

Goddard. She wants you to get into something 
legitimate, eh? 

Meekin. Exactly—I haven’t had a chance to tell 
you yet, Jim, but here’s the scheme. If I can make 
this clean-up I can afford to quit temporarily, and 
then, to celebrate, mother and I are going to take 
the car and go around the world. 

Jimmie. Fine—she’d love it. 

Meekin. Wouldn’t she, though—Hawaii, China, 
Japan, all that sort of thing—she’si keen on it and so 
am I. 

Jimmie. How is she—haven’t seen her in a 
week? 

Meekin. Great—and as crazy as I am. 

Jimmie. Same as ever, then. 

Meekin. Yes. (Laughs.) Listen— (Leaning 
over table confidentially to them) —last night I got 
in about two. I went in to kiss her good night, and 
I sat on the edge of the bed and we talked till quar¬ 
ter past four—now that’s no way for a mother to 
behave. 

Jimmie. It certainly is not. 

Meekin. But, gosh, I love it! Oh, by the way, 
if you fellows see her, don’t say anything to her 
about Yukon—she’s a bit worried now— of course 
she pretends she isn’t- 

Jimmie. Oh, we understand. 

Meekin. But you know how mothers are. 

Goddard. Sure—they’re a pretty perfect insti¬ 
tution. 

Meekin. The best- (Stops.) Don’t you get 

me started again. I mustn’t be sentimental. Words 
are so damned silly when you’re trying to say what 
you really mean. 

Jimmie. (Rises and comes c.) You know, I 
envy you that trip. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


IS 


Meekin. Come along. 

Jimmie. Can’t afford it. You know, Meek, I 
hate plodding—an all-wise Providence intended that 
I should live merely to enjoy the club, and you fel¬ 
lows, and tennis, and golf, and motor boats, and au¬ 
tomobiles—and money. I really was born to the 
purple. 

Meekin. Haven’t you forgotten the most im¬ 
portant thing? 

Ji m mie. Sure—my pipe. 

Meekin. No—girls. 

Garrison. Girls- Oh- (Turns away.) 

Jimmie. Oh, I don’t mind them in bunches—but 
one girl frightens me. You see, if you put two or 
three together, though, it rather cramps their style— 
they’re so dead on to each other they don’t dare be 
natural. 

Joe. (Rise, l. of Garrison) Nonsense—girls 

aren’t man-hunters. 

Garrison. (Turns to Joe) Oh! Aren’t they? 
Well, I tell you, my boy, marriage is all a woman 
lives for—till she’s married—and then she lives joy¬ 
ously and g'aily to deplore the fact that she didn’t 
marry someone else; and that’s about the one thing 
she and her husband ever do agree on. 

(Joe goes up and sits on edge of table l. — puts glass 
down.) 

Meekin. Nonsense! Garri, when I think how 
doggone happy mother was in her married life, I’m 
ready to burst right into matrimony—as soon as I 
can find the girl. I wonder who’d make a good wife 
for you, Jimmie? 

Jimmie. You’re not drunk, are you, Meek? 

Meekin. No, I’m dead serious. 

Goddard. Well, I’ve tried marriage and I love it. 

Garri. Why aren’t you home, then, instead of 
leading this riotous life? 





i6 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Goddard. Because my wife’s away motoring for 
a couple of days—otherwise you can wager I 
wouldn’t be here. 

Jimmie. Oh, well, you’re an exception. 

Goddard. I wonder if I am. 

Meekin. Certainly you’re not—there are lots of 
happy marriages. 

Jimmie. But where are the happy husbands? 
(Goes r. and gets key from rack r.J 

Meekin. Well, I mean to be one of them my¬ 
self. 

Goddard. Bully for you! 

Garrison. Poor devil! 

Goddard. Oh, of course you, Garri, like to pre¬ 
tend that you’re a misunderstood angel that never 
gets a night out. 

Meekin. Why, if you had a night out you 
wouldn’t know what to do with it. 

Garrison. Oh, wouldn’t I? Say, look here, I’d 
stand Broadway on end and tip it over—don’t tell 
me! 

All. (Ad lib.) No, you wouldn’t. 

Jimmie. Say—say - (Coming back to c.) 

What is all this—a pro-marriage lecture? 

Goddard. Just the same, marriage is maybe what 
you need, Jimmie, to make you want to hustle. 

Jimmie. That’s the first time you’ve been right— 
marriage’d make me hustle like the devil on my pres¬ 
ent salary. 

Meekin. Well, you need something to make you 
buck up and I’ll bet marriage’d do it. 

Jimmie. Well, if matrimony is such a delightful 
institution, why don’t you try it yourself ? 

Meekin. I’m going to. 

p Jimmie. That’s the idea—and I’ll stand on the 
side lines and coach you when you make mistakes. 

Joe. (Coming down behind table l.J But why 



SEVEN CHANCES 17 

is it that a married man, even if he’s rich, works 
harder and longer than a bachelor ? 

Garrison. He’d rather stay at the office than go 
home. 

Jimmie. Right—and I shall never marry. 

Meekin. The chap who talks like that is the first 
to fall. 

Jimmie. No, you’re all wrong. What—give up 
my freedom—give up my bully bachelorhood for one 
girl and a^wife at that—-never. Anyhow, the kind 
of a girl I’d take wouldn’t take me—somehow girls 
seem to think I’m homely. 

Goddard. (Turns in his seat to Jimmie) Oh, I 
thought all that too once, but I tell you, Jim, when it 
hits you and she gets you, you’re gone, you’re sunk— 
and all your Broadways and bachelor days don’t 
amount to a hang when she puts her arms around 
your neck and says, "I love you!” 

Jimmie. Sounds mushy to me. 

Garrison. Sentimental rubbish. 

# Goddard. Well, I am happily married and I don’t 
give a damn who knows it. (Meekin goes up and 
gets letter from mail-box.) 

Jimmie. Goddard, you don’t feel that you’re 
coming down with some dread disease, do you— 
sort of incipient delirium? 

Goddard. (Rising) I suppose I am wasting my 
time talking to a cynic like you. (Crosses to table r., 
lights cigarette and picks up magazine.) 

Jimmie. You bet you are. Grandfather’s been 
dfter me for years to marry, so don’t think you can 
succeed where he failed. (Meekin comes back to 
seat.) Meek, I warn you, if you wish to take me to 
dinner and the theatre afterwards—mind you, no 
girls—I’ll be delighted. 

Meekin. (Bows) I accept your kind invitation 
to let me pay your check. 


18 SEVEN CHANCES 

Jimmie. And, Meek, tomorrow’s the day I go to 
the office. 

Meekin. (Sits) What? 

Jimmie. Yes—it’s ladies’ day here. 

Garrison. Oh l (Laughs.) 

Jimmie. Can you see me—“Yes, Mrs. Jones, this 
is the snuggery where we sit around and tell our 
stories—Mrs. Smith, can’t I get you another dish of 
punch—Mrs. Filbert—another nut—let me find your 
partner for you?” No, boys, I’ll mark my little old 
room vacant and stay in town until it’s all over. 

Meekin. Oh, go on upstairs and get dressed. 

Jimmie. I will. Just think, Goddard, think, if I 
were married I’d have to get leave of absence even 
to dine with Meek. Thank heaven I’m still a bache¬ 
lor. (He starts to exit as women's voices are heard 
from off up. r. All men rise.) Great Scott, there 
are women in the club, and it isn’t tomorrow yet. 

Meekin. But women can’t come in here today. 

Jimmie. I know they can’t, but they’re here. 

(Mrs. Garrison’s voice is heard distinctly.) 

Mrs. Garrison. Nonsense, Anne, what are you 
talking about? 

Garrison. Great Scott, that’s my wife’s voice! 

Meekin. Come to take you home. (Crosses to 
r. Boys put smokes away, Joe puts glasses up l.) 

Garrison. Then it’s the end of a perfect day. 

Goddard. I’ll protect you. 

Mrs. Garrison. (Enters r.c.J Anyway, this is 

the last room. If we look in here- (Sees men.) 

Gentlemen. (Sees Garrison and changes her tone 
to him.) Garri, what are you doing here—the five- 
ten isn’t in yet ? (Goes to back of table l .) 

Garrison. No, I managed to get the four-ten to¬ 
day. 


SEVEN CHANCES 
(Anne enters r.c.) 


19 


Jimmie. Well, hello, Anne—how are you? 

Anne. Splendid, Jimmie. 

Goddard. Miss Windsor, how do you do? 

Mrs. Garrison. (Turns to men) You seem sur¬ 
prised to see us. 

Meekin. Surprised—but delighted. 

Anne. Oh,—you don’t know what on earth to do 
with us. (She sits in chair l.c. and begins to make 
sketches.) 

Jimmie. Well, as a matter of fact, you know, this 
is absolutely against club rules. 

Anne. We don’t mind, do we, my dear? 

Mrs. Garrison. Not in the least. (Looking 
around.) So this is the place that always makes my 
husband late for dinner. 

Jimmie. You know, Anne, this isn’t a bit like 
you, butting in here at a man’s club. 

Anne. That’s just why I’m enjoying it so much— 
because I’ve never done it before. 

Goddard. You know, dear ladies, when the house 
committee hears of this, we’ll probably all be sus¬ 
pended. 

Mrs. Garrison. And a very good thing, too, for 
those of you who are married. (Turns and glares 
at Garrison.) 

Jimmie. Anne, what are you doing here? 

Anne. Ask Mrs. Garrison. (Sketches in pad.) 

Garrison. I might have known, Anne, it was my 
wife’s fault. 

Joe. Well, good-bye, everybody. I must be run¬ 
ning along. (Crosses to r. and starts, but boys grab 
him and pull him back.) 

Goddard. (Stopping him) You will not—you’ll 
stay right here and share one-fifth of the responsi¬ 
bility. 

Anne. (Rising) Well, gentlemen, I suppose 


20 


SEVEN CHANCES 


you’re waiting for us to justify our presence here— 
we were formally invited. 

Jimmie. (r.c.) You were invited? 

Mrs. Garrison, (l.) Exactly. 

Goddard. Who invited you? 

Anne. The house committee. 

Joe. The house committee ? 

Jimmie. What did they invite you for? 

Anne. Oh, don’t find fault with them—it’s not 
just to annoy you—but merely to lend a helping 
hand for decorating the club for Ladies’ Day to¬ 
morrow under Mrs. Garrison’s chaperonage. 

Jimmie. Oh! 

(Garrison goes up l.c.) 

Anne. You know my business now—interior 
decoration. 

Meekin. Then it’s official. (Crossing to Anne 
c., then up c. to Garrison.) 

Mrs. Garrison. (Comes down l. of table l.) 
Yes, you won’t be suspended—more’s the pity. 

Joe. It’s all right, then. 

Goddard. Welcome, ladies, on behalf of the club. 

Jimmie. Yes, we’re delighted to have you. (Winks 
at boys.) 

Anne. So we’ve noticed. 

Garrison. Well, I’m going into the bar, where I 
doubt, my love, if even you will follow me. (Crosses 
and exits r. into bar.) 

Anne. We’ll put the club colors in here, Mrs. 
Garrison. I’ve made my notes and sketches. We’ll 
string the lights on a chain of buttercups and daisies. 

Jimmie. Buttercups and daisies! 

Anne. (Going to door l. and looking out —Mrs. 
Garrison goes up l.c.) We’ll bring in that wicker 
furniture. Take that table out and all those chairs. 

Mrs. Garrison. All those chairs, of course. 


SEVEN CHANCES 21 

(Jimmie puts cards up l., goes up to door r.c.) 

Anne. Pardon me. Oh, Mrs. Garrison. 

Mrs. Garrison. Yes? 

Anne. You know that pennant we didn’t know 
what to do with ; we’ll hang - it up there. 

(Anne and Mrs. Garrison cross^to r. and brush 
the men away to l.) 

Mrs. Garrison. And the Superintendent has 
promised us all the lights and decorations that we 
want. Oh, you’ll change the place quite a bit. 

Jimmie, (c.) The wrecking crew. 

Mrs. Garrison. And as they won’t have their 
trappings ready till morning, Anne, shall we go now ? 

Meekin. Now that you are officially guests of the 
club, mayn’t we get you a lemonade or an ice ? 

Joe. Do let us, please. 

Goddard. It’s quite charming out there on the 
veranda. 

(George appears on veranda l. with golf-bag.) 

Mrs. Garrison. (Crossing up to Meekin c.) 
Really, I’ve been waiting for you to ask us. 

Meekin. We’re not used to girls—here. (To 
George, who is on the veranda) Oh, George. 

George. Yes, sir. 

Anne. I’ll have an orangeade, thank you. 

Mrs. Garrison. So will I. 

Meekin. (To George) Two orangeades and— 
a couple of—you know. (Gives the rest of the order 
in an undertone, motions with his head for George 
to understand what he wants.) 

Mrs. Garrison. (Crosses to door l.) Oh, as 
soon as we’ve gone I fancy my husband will emerge 
from the bar—please send him home. 



22 


SEVEN CHANCES 


(Mrs. Garrison, Goddard, Joe and Meekin go out 
chatting. Jimmie starts toward r.) 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie! 

Jimmie. (Stops, indifferently) Yes. 

Anne. Just a minute, Mrs. Garrison. I’ll be out 
directly. 

Mrs. Garrison. ( Off stage) I’ll wait for you, 
my dear—it’s lovely. 

Meekin. (Off stage) Try this chair. 

Goddard. ( Off stage) Let me get you a cushion. 

Anne. (Coming c.) Jimmie, aren’t you coming 
out to have an orangeade or an orange blossom? 

# Jimmie. ( Coming down r.c.J No —let Mrs. Gar¬ 
rison have all those—she loves butting in, doesn’t 
she? 

Anne. So you do think we’re butting in. 

Jimmie. Of course—don’t you think you are? 

Anne. Most assuredly — so that’s not open to 
further argument. 

Jimmie. No —that makes it unanimous. You 
look awfully well today. 

Anne. I am. 

Jimmie. I love that dress. 

Anne. I’ve loved it for years—four years. 

(George enters r. with orangeade and puts it on 
table and exits l.) 

Jimmie. Four years—must have done something 
to it—it looks brand new. 

Anne. It’s meant to—but really it’s an old, old 
favorite. 

Jimmie. There’s your drink, Anne. 

Anne. Thank you. (Anne crosses to table, sits 
and puts drink aside.) 

Jimmie. What’s the matter — don’t you want an 
orangeade ? 

Anne. No— I stayed behind to talk to you. 


SEVEN CHANGES 


23 


Jimmie. To me? 

Anne. Oh, don’t be flattered—I just wanted to 
ask you to- 

Jimmie. To play tennis? 

Anne. No, to play fair. Jimmie, why have you 
been so rude—why don’t you cut it out? 

Jimmie. (Perplexed) I —rude? I was never 

rude in my life, Anne. 

Anne. Two weeks ago I asked you for a four¬ 
some—you never showed up. Thursday night you 
came to dinner—you were an hour late. Last week 
you invited me to the theatre—you forgot all about 
it. 

Jimmie. (Crossing to r.c.J But don’t you un¬ 
derstand—a man has so many things to think of. 

Anne. (Rises and comes to chair r. of table and 
sits on arm) Jimmie, but why have you been so— 
well, so impolite? 

Jimmie. Why, it’s just that I’ve been busy and 
delayed. 

Anne. I know a husband who, when he isn’t 
coming home to dinner, invariably telephones his 
wife to say how sorry he is. You’d never do that— 
you’d stroll in three hours after soup and say, “Were 
you worried? You might have known it was busi¬ 
ness that kept me!” 

Jimmie. Very likely—but then, you see, I have 
no wife that I have to telephone to. 

Anne. Ah, but you may marry. . 

Jimmie. Never. 

Anne. (Rises, quizzically) Never? 

Jimmie. (W orried ) N ever! 

Anne. Oh, you have relieved me! Well, any¬ 
how, I warn you, if you want to stay in my good 
graces, you’ll have to reform and take up the tele¬ 
phone habit. 

Jimmie. I will reform—from now on I’ll be as 
polite as a—Frenchman. 




24 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Anne. Very well. 

Jimmie. What’s your telephone number ? 

Anne. One—one—three. 

Jimmie. One—one-—three; one—one—three. I’ll 
try and remember that. 

Anne. The past’s forgiven and we’ll begin anew. 

Jimmie. (Shakes hands) That’s agreed. 

Anne. And—as a reward—-you may come to din¬ 
ner tonight. 

Jimmie. Fine! 

Anne. (Goes up l.) Seven-thirty sharp, mind 
you. 

Jimmie. (Starts up) Oh, I can’t. 

Anne. (Turns) Oh! 

Jimmie. No —no—I’m dining with Meekin. 

Anne. Important? 

Jimmie. Oh, no. I just said I would, though. 

Anne. (Comes toward him) Can’t you put him 
off? Couldn’t you make it tomorrow? 

Jimmie. I shouldn’t like to break a date with 
Meekin. 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie, you’re hopeless—but you’re 
so gloriously blind I can’t help liking you even now. 

Jimmie. I don’t understand. 

Anne. No, I didn’t think you would or I 
shouldn’t have said what I did. 

Jimmie. Now what have I done? 

Anne. You dine with Meekin five nights a week 
—and yet you couldn’t put him off this once—you, 
who were going to be so polite, so considerate. 

Jimmie. I didn’t realize—I’ll be at your house at 
seven-thirty. 

Anne. Indeed you won’t. 

Jimmie. Yes, I will. 

Anne. No, you won’t—not if I never eat again. 
Jimmie, there is a limit and I believe you’re it—run 
along to your Meek. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


25 

Jimmie. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can 
say. 

Anne. I agree with you—and really, really, I am 
cross with you now. 

Joe. (Entering) Mrs. Garrison, it was charming 
of you to come and see us. 

Mrs. Garrison. (Enters, followed by Goddard, 
Meekin and Joe) I thank you so much. Anne, 
dear, I must go. 

Anne. I’ve been chatting with Jimmie. 

Meekin. We hope you’ll both drop in soon again. 

Mrs. Garrison. Thanks. We’ll consider it. 

Jimmie. You’re quite sure I can’t come at seven- 
thirty ? 

Anne. Quite—good-bye, everybody. 

All. Good-bye. 

(Goddard goes out with Mrs. Garrison and Meek¬ 
in. Anne stops at door when Jimmie speaks. 
Joe crosses at back to r.c. and exits.) 

Jimmie. Well, I’ll see you soon, then, Anne. 

Anne. (Stops at door) Possibly, but I may be out 
of town—I’m doing a place for some people in the 
country. 

Jimmie. But aren’t you going to stay over for 
Ladies’ Day? 

Anne. (Comes to up c. — tenderly) Does it mat¬ 
ter? 

Jimmie. Well, of course, I won’t be here. I was 
just thinking of the decorations. 

Anne. Oh, as I said, I’ve planned out everything. 
And I can leave the rest to Mrs. Garrison—good¬ 
bye, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. Good-bye. (Goes R.) 

Anne. Good-bye. (Exits l.) 

All. (Off stage) Good-bye. 

Goddard. (Entering l.) Good-bye, Miss Wind- 


26 


SEVEN CHANCES 

sor. Come along, Meek. (Comes down to R. of 
table l .) This club’s getting to be quite a place — 
let’s have the ladies here every day. 

Jimmie, (r.) Yes—you know, I don’t think we 
were as polite to them as we should have been. 

Goddard. Oh, they’ll make allowances. (Sits in 
chair r. of table l.J 

Meekin. (Enters l. and comes to Jimmie up c.) 
Well, they’re off. Oh, Anne said to tell you that it 
was mighty thoughtful of you to see them off—I 
said you hadn’t, but she said to tell you anyway— 
and you’d understand. 

Jimmie. Yes, I do. (Exits r.J 

Meekin. Something happened? 

Joe. (Enters r.c.) Here are the evening papers 
at last. Here you are, Meek. Want a paper? (He 
gives Goddard and Meekin a paper each, and goes 
to table l. and opens his paper on table.) 

Goddard. Ah, thank you, Joe. (Looking at paper . 
With one mind they alt turn over to the stock page.) 

Meekin. I wonder how Yukon closed. 

Goddard. Well, we’ll soon see. 

Joe. (Bending over his paper at table l. anxiously) 
Why, it went down a point and a half. (Turns to 
Meekin.) You said only a point. 

Meekin. That’s what it was at half-past two—I 
didn’t wait for the closing. 

Joe. I’m stuck a hundred and fifty dollars—three 
weeks’ salary! 

Goddard. (Reading) Hello! Say, fellows, lis¬ 
ten to this: “After the market closed, there was an 
authentic rumor that Meyer & Co. had practically 
secured control of Yukon ore. 

Meekin. ( c. Rise) Great! It’s all right, then. 
Watch it boom tomorrow. 

Joe. (Anxiously) But it ought to have had a rise 
today, oughtn’t it? I wish I’d never gone into it. 
(Goes up l.) 


SEVEN CHANCES 


27 

Meekin. Gee whiz! Look! Last column! (To 
Goddard— hands him paper and points to last col¬ 
umn.) 

Goddard. ( Reading) Whew! 

Joe. (Comes to hack of them) What’s hap¬ 
pened ? 

Goddard. Jimmie’s grandfather — killed motoring. 

Joe. Great Scott! 

Meekin. (Bending over Goddard’s arm, reading 
paper) It happened yesterday—the old man was 
touring in France—broken steering-knuckle—over 
the cliff—fractured skull. 

Joe. What’ll it mean to Jimmie? 

Goddard. He had millions — heaps of ’em! 

Joe. Oh, gosh! (Sinks in chair back of table.) 

Meekin. Why, it’s one of the big fortunes. 

Joe. And does it all go to Jimmie? 

Meekin. I’m sure he’ll get a big slice. 

Joe. Is there any other heir? 

Meek. No— Jimmie’s the last of the Shannons. 

Goddard. (Rise) By Jove, where’s Garrison? 

Meekin. What’s he got to do with it? 

Goddard. Why, you know we were the old man’s 
lawyers. 

Meekin. Of course. 

Goddard. And Garri himself drew up the will. 
(Crosses to r.) 

Meekin. (Catching him by the arm) But it’s 
all right for Jimmie—he isn’t cut off? 

Goddard. No, no, but we must get Garri — he’ll 
remember the facts better than I do. He was pretty 
close to old Shannon, you know. (Up to door r.J 
Oh, Garri—Garri! 

Meekin. Think of it — millions! Gee, I’m damn 
glad it’s Jimmie! (Goes R. ) 

Joe. (Rises) So am I. 

Garrison. (Entering R.) Oh, they’ve left - 


28 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Well, then, boys, I’m off to the joys of home life 
now—damn ’em! 

Meekin. Come here, Garri—read this. 

Garrison. (Coming down to l. of Meekin) 
What is it now ? 

Meekin. Look—last column. (Hands him paper, 
points to last column. Garrison reads.) 

Garrison. Great Scott! Poor old Shannon! 
Too bad—too bad! Knew him for twenty years— 
eccentric old grouch—but I always liked him. 

Meekin. Yes—-yes—but what about Jimmie? 

Garrison. Jimmie — Jimmie - Great Jumping 

Jupiter! Of course—Jimmie! 

Joe. He’s the sole heir, isn’t he? 

Garrison. Yes—yes. 

Meekin. Great! 

Garrison. Let’s see—Jimmie is- (To God¬ 

dard) How old is Jimmie now? 

Goddard. He’s twenty-seven, I think—he’s got 
plenty of time- 

Meekin. No— he’s twenty-nine. 

Goddard. (Alarmed) Twenty-nine—is he? 

Garrison. Twenty-nine. So he is—when’ll he be 
thirty ? 

Meekin. (The question strikes Meekin as 
funny) When do you think—on his next birthday, of 
course. 

Goddard. When’s his birthday ? 

Meekin. Let me see- 

Garrison. Does anybody know? 

Joe. Seems to me it’s- 

Goddard. I remember he gave us a party last 
year. 

Meekin. I’m pretty sure it’s the seventeenth of 
something—isn’t it? 

Joe. Yes, I think it is. 

Goddard. I know it was in May. 





SEVEN CHANCES 29 

Garrison. May seventeenth—good! This is the 
sixth, isn’t it? (Crosses to R.) 

Meekin. What the deuce has that go to do- 

Goddard. (Taking Joe up r.c.) Say, Joe, run 
along, will you ? 

Meekin. Something wrong ? 

Goddard. We want to talk to Meekin. You don’t 
mind, do you ? 

(Goddard and Joe go up to door r.c.) 

Joe. Of course—my best to Jimmie—he’s a 
corker! (Exits R.c.) 

Goddard. (Coming down l. of them) Yes, cer¬ 
tainly. Garri, it’ll be all right if we tell Meekin? 

Garrison. Oh, I suppose so. 

Goddard. Well, I think we’ll need his help. 

Meekin. My help—what for? 

Garrison. Jimmie’s in an awful fix. 

Meekin. Fix? 

Garrison. Terrible! I told you the general situ¬ 
ation, Goddard. 

Goddard. Yes, yes—but I don’t recall all the con¬ 
ditions. 

Meekin. For the love of heaven, get to it—what 
is it? 

Garrison. Well, the old man had about twelve 
million. 

Meekin. Whew! (Whistles.) 

Garrison. And it all goes to Jimmie. 

Meekin. Great! 

Garrison. If he’s married. 

Meekin. Married! 

Garrison. Married by the time he’s thirty. 

(Meekin turns to Goddard.) 


Goddard. That’s it. 



SEVEN CHANCES 


30 

Meekin. Great Holy Suffering Caesar—you heard 
Jimmie—he won’t marry. 

Garrison. Well, if he isn’t married by his thir¬ 
tieth birthday, all the money goes to a bunch of col¬ 
leges and hospitals. 

Meekin. And he’ll be thirty in ten days. 

Goddard. By George, what’ll we do? 

Meekin. Get him married, of course. 

Goddard. Certainly. 

Garrison. No —no, we’ve got to save him from 
that. 

Meekin. When it means twelve million—you’re 
crazy! Of course, the trouble is Jimmie’s a born 
bachelor. 

Garrison. All men are born bachelors—but mar¬ 
riage is thrust on lots of them. 

Goddard. And only ten days—that’s quick work. 

Meekin. You bet it is. Garri, give me a minute 
alone with Jimmie, first. 

Garrison. (Protesting) Now, see here, I’m the 
executor of that will. 

Meekin. Yes, I know. You can tackle him af¬ 
terwards. I’ve a lot of influence with Jimmie. 

Jimmie. (Enters R.C., comes down to them hum¬ 
ming “All dressed up and no place to go.” They 
break and stand silently looking at him.) Here we 
are, a little quartette! What’ll we sing? What’s 
the matter with you fellows—struck dumb? 

Meekin. No, what makes you think so ? 

Jimmie. You look as if you’d fallen into money 
or something. ( Goes to L.J 

Meekin. (Hinting) You chaps going? 

Goddard. Sure, come on, Garri—and have that 
one last drink. (Exits into bar r.) 

Garrison. (Going toward bar r.J Yes, I know, 
the one you wish you hadn't taken. 

Ralph. (Enters from bar and buttonholes Gar- 


SEVEN CHANCES 31 

rison. Goddard exits) Say, Garri, I’ve got a 
corker! 

Garrison. (Quickly) And I’ve got one, for you 
—did you ever hear the story of the young man like 
you who came up to the old man like me, and the 
young man said to the old man, “What’s going on ?” 
and the old man said, “I am!” (Exits quickly. 
Ralph, still listening, turns and finds him gone and 
then exits after him, dumbfounded. Meekin goes 
up.) 

Jimmie. Well, come along, Meek. I warn you 
I’m prepared to dine expensively and well. (Comes 
down L.cJ 

Meekin. There’s no hurry—besides, I want to 
talk to you. (Comes down R.J 

Jimmie. What about? 

Meekin. I was just thinking of your grandfather. 

Jimmie. I suppose he’s been writing you—that’s 
why you’ve been trying to marry me off. He’s al¬ 
ways been dippy about that. (To chair r. of table.) 

Meekin. (Carelessly) Have you heard anything 
from him lately? 

Jimmie. (Sitting r. of table) No—he’s abroad 
as usual. He only writes me once in a great while— 
“Dear Jimmie: Enclosed please find check. I hope 
you are behaving yourself better than I did at your 
age. Aren’t you married yet? Your affectionate 
grandfather!” That’s about the letter I’ve been get¬ 
ting from him for the past ten years—Christmas and 
birthdays. And that reminds me, I ought to be hear¬ 
ing from him pretty soon. 

Meekin. (Innocently approaches him) When is 
your birthday—I never remember dates. (Moves 
to c.) 

Jimmie. Why, it’s May the- 

Meekin. May- 

Jimmie. No, I won’t tell you—you’d Arrange some 



32 


SEVEN CHANCES 


party with candles and girls and games or something, 
and try to get me married. 

Meekin. Oh, I know your birthday, anyhow—I 
remembered it was the seventeenth of something and 
you’ve just said this month—so May 17th. (Goes 
R.J 

Jimmie. (Humorously) Gee, what a memory! 

Meekin. Oh, Jim ? 

Jimmie. Yes? 

Meekin. (After a pause) We were speaking a 
second ago about your grandfather. 

Jimmie. Yes—come on, out with it—what’s he 
been writing you? 

Meekin. No, I haven’t heard from him—but, 
Jim, he’s—well—you see- (Breaks off.) 

Jimmie. What’s the matter ? 

Meekin. Why — I - 

Jimmie. Something happened? (Meekin nods 
his head.) You don’t mean- (Come to Meek¬ 

in. Meekin nods again and hands him paper which 
is on table and points to article. Jimmie reads , then 
looks up very curiously.) Poor old chap! Isn’t that 
tough luck—poor old fellow! 

Meekin. It was mighty tragic. 

Jimmie. The sad part of it is there’s nobody even 
to. send a cable to say I’m sorry— he wouldn’t be 
friends with anybody. 

Meekin. He was sort of an eccentric old chap, 
wasn’t he ? 

Jimmie. Yes, but I guess he was fond of me in 
his funny way. Gee, life’s a strange thing, isn’t it?— 
to be riding along alive and then suddenly a flaw in 
a little piece of steel and it’s all over. Of course it 
isn’t as though I’d really ever known him, but he was 
my grandfather—and now I haven’t anybody. 

Meekin. ( There is a pause) I dare say it sounds 
a bit.awkward, but as long as it had to happen, aren’t 
you in a way to be congratulated ? 




SEVEN CHANCES 


33 

Jimmie. Oh, you mean the money. Yes, I sup¬ 
pose I am. I hadn’t thought of that, but I’d much 
rather he’d lived, though, really. 

Meekin. (Pats him on the shoulder) Sure—I 
understand. (Jimmie crosses to l.) Now, Jimmie 

—regarding- (Jimmie turns.) Have a drink? 

(Crosses to table l. and presses button.) 

Jimmie. Yes, I think I will—I feel a bit upset. 
(Goes up l. and down again.) 

Meekin. The old man had about twelve million. 
(Sits r. of table.) 

(George enters rJ 

Jimmie. Twelve million! Twelve million? (He 
comes down l. of table.) 

George. Yes, sir? 

Meekin. Two Bronx. (George exits.) 

Jimmie. Great Scott! Why, Meek, even at five 
per cent, that’s six hundred thousand a year! 

Meekin. Yes, I know, Jim. Will you listen to 
me just a second? 

Jimmie. Fifty thousand dollars a month. And 
I’ve been getting fifty dollars a week. Fifty thou¬ 
sand a month- By George, I’ll make a rich man 

of you, yet! 

Meekin. Aw — shut up! 

Jimmie. (Sits l. of table) Oh, I know you won’t 
take any money from me—but, Meek, go on—jump 
in—buy four or five thousand more shares of Yu¬ 
kon. 

Meekin. Can’t afford it. 

Jimmie. Oh, I’ll back you—you can make a big 
clean-up—quarter of a million easy! Go on, I’ll 
stand behind you. What do you say ? 

(George enters with two Bronx cocktails, puts them 
on table and exits L.) 



34 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Meekin. All right, Jim, we’ll see later. In the 
meantime, let’s drink this. (They pick up drinks and 
rise.) 

Jimmie. You’re on. Let me take that pencil, I 
want to figure something myself. (Figuring on pad 
on table.) Sixteen hundred dollars a day. I can’t 
believe it—think what that means—not for myself, 
but for my friends. I’ll give a fresh start to men 
and women who thought they’d finished—I’ll give 
Joe enough to get married on—I’ll give Garri that 
car he’s always wanted—I’ll build the new wing on 
the clubhouse and I’ll pay the debt on the old one. 
I’ll give your mother a diamond tiara—and as for 
you- 

Meekin. Jimmie, may your tribe increase. 

Jimmie. As I shall never marry, your wish is 
highly indecent. (They drink and put down glasses.) 
Oh, sixteen hundred dollars a day! 

Meekin. But, Jimmie—there’s a string to it. 

Jimmie. (Tumbling out of his air castle) Great 
Scott! Am I left out altogether ? 

Meekin. (Trying to break it gently) No, not 
that, but you see, Jimmie, it’s like this—your grand¬ 
father was evidently hipped on the idea of your mar¬ 
rying and settling down. (Sits r. of table.) 

Jimmie. I know that. 

Meekin. And to make sure you’d do it, he left 
you all his money. 

Jimmie. Well, then it’s all right. (Starts to sit.) 

Meekin. But you’ve got to get married. 

Jimmie. (Rising) I’ve got to get what ? 

Meekin. Married by the time you’re thirty, or 
you don't get a nickel. 

Jimmie. Don’t be silly—there’s nothing in the 
paper about that! Where’d you dream such an idi¬ 
otic idea? 

Meekin. I’m not dreaming—Garri just told me— 
he drew up the will himself. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


35 


Jimmie. I’ve got to get mar- (Runs up r. and 

calls) Oh, Garri—Garri—come here a minute, will 
you? (Comes back to R. of Meekin.) I don’t be¬ 
lieve it —grandfather wouldn’t do a thing like that — 
draw up a will just to get me married—it isn’t pos¬ 
sible. (Garrison and Goddard enter r. Jimmie 
turns to them.) Garri, is it true that my grand¬ 
father— 

Garrison. Yes, Jimmie, it’s absolutely true. 

Goddard. Absolutely. 

Jimmie. Oh, come on, you fellows. Don’t joke 
about it—you’re not putting up some job on me, are 
you? 

Goddard. No, Jimmie, we were the old gentle¬ 
men’s attorneys, you know—it’s serious. 

Jimmie. I should say it is serious—twelve million 
dollars, but I’ve got to get married. 

Garrison. That’s it exactly. 

Goddard. And before you’re thirty. 

Jimmie. Oh, oh—I hate to lose that money — but, 
well, it was a beautiful dream while it lasted — come 
on, Meek, we’ll go to dinner. (Starts up.) 

Meekin. ( Still sitting, clutching him by the arm) 
No, we won’t—now listen. 

Jimmie. I’m not going to get married — twelve 
millions or twenty. 

Meekin. Oh, yes, you are — and by the time 
you’re thirty—you’re lucky you’ve still got ten days 
before your birthday. 

Jimmie. Ten days! But, just think, if he’d died 
after I was thirty I wouldn’t have had even a look- 

in. 

Goddard. Before your grandfather sailed, I re¬ 
member Garri told him that he ought to draw up a 
new will giving you more time—but as men do, he 
put it off. 

Garrison. And the will stands just as I drew it 
five years ago. 




36 SEVEN CHANCES 

Jimmie. As long as I won’t marry—who does get 
the money ? 

Garrison. A lot of colleges and hospitals. 

Goddard. Columbia—St. Luke’s—Johns Hop¬ 

kins. 

Jimmie. Never mind the names. 

Garrison. You see, your grandfather offered you 
his millions as an inducement to carry on his tra¬ 
ditions—and perpetuate his family. 

Jimmie. Yes, that sounds just like him—he al¬ 
ways had a picture of me on one side of the fireplace 
—my wife on the other—and eight or ten little tots 
running around. 

Goddard. And it’s not a bad picture, Jimmie. 
(Crosses to Jimmie.) Come on, now, reconsider— 
get married. Why, people are doing it every day. 

Jimmie. Not this people— they’re not. No. 

Meekin. (Rising and coming^ to l. of Jimmie) 
Jimmie, I’ve got it—why not pick out some nice, 
respectable girl—present her with about twenty-five 
thousand dollars a year for the rest of her life—say 
good-bye five minutes after the wedding and come 
back technically a married man, but by habit a 
bachelor. 

Jimmie. Fine—I’ll do that. (Shakes hands.) 
It’s a great idea—much obliged. 

Garrison. You’d scarcely be carrying on the 
Shannon traditions. 

Jimmie. Yes, I know, but after all I am his 
grandson—it does seem to me that I’m more entitled 
to it than a lot of institutions. 

Meekin. And by my scheme he’s technically ful¬ 
filling the conditions of the will which is all the law 
demands. 

Goddard. I’m sorry, Jimmie, but it isn’t all your 
grandfather demanded. 

Garrison. No, he seemed to anticipate some such 
plan as Meekin’s would suggest itself—so he pro- 


SEVEN CHANCES 37 

vided the marriage must last for at least a year and 
in good faith. 

Jimmie. (Crosses to Garri) You mean we’ve 
got to stick together for a whole year—better or 
worse—all that sort of thing—or not get the money ? 

Garrison. Exactly. 

Jimmie. Then I don’t do it—I can’t do it. 

Meekin. (To Goddard) How could he provide 
for that in a will ? 

Goddard. (Shaking his head) Oh, he provided 
for it, all right—he and Garri. 

Garri. You bet we did. Jimmie, if you and your 
wife live apart for more than two consecutive days— 
if you separate—if your marriage is annulled—if 
you are divorced—if any of those things happen 
within one year after your marriage—you don’t get 
a penny. 

Jimmie. He was ingenious, wasn’t he—my grand¬ 
father ? 

Meekin. Well, who’s to see that these conditions 
are carried out? 

Garrison. I am. 

Meekin. You- Oh, Jim, it’s a cinch! (He 

crosses to Garrison. Jimmie goes to l. of table l.J 
Garri, you’re not going to stand in Jimmie’s way— 
you’ll be lenient with him, won’t you—you’ll not in¬ 
sist on their being together a whole year—all the 
time—you know Jimmie. 

Garrison. There’s the will — Jimmie’s got to live 
up to it if he expects the money. 

Jimmie. You mean that in spite of everything you 
said to me here—on this very spot—that now you 
approve of my marrying? (Pointing to chair l. of 
table where Garrison was sitting.) 

Garrison. (Crosses to l.c.J I do not. I don’t 
want you to marry—that’s why I helped make those 
conditions—so you’d balk at it—but if you’re fool 





38 SEVEN CHANCES 

enough to try it, you know what you’ve got to live 
up to. Now, what’s your decision? 

Jimmie. No! ! ! 

Garrison. Fine—and as your friend, I’m mighty 
pleased at your good sense. 

Goddard. (Comes down) Shut up, Garri—you’re 
not here to advise. 

Meekin. (Toward him) Goddard— you don’t 
agree with Garri? 

Goddard. Certainly not. 

Meekin. Well, you’re his partner— you can go 
easy with Jimmie. 

Goddard. By Jove, I’d like to—but the law is the 
law and we can’t get around that. 

Meekin. You can’t? 

Goddard. No. 

Meekin. Well, then you’re a couple of pretty 
poor lawyers. (Moves away r. around table.) 

Garrison. Well, we’re not even going to try. 
(Goes r.J 

Jimmie. You fellows can argue it out any way 
you please, but as far as I am concerned, all the 
money’s going to the colleges and hospitals. 

Meekin. (Crosses to Jimmie l.J Yes, it is—not 
while I retain my health and strength. Do you think 
I’m going to stand by and see twelve millions slide 
away when all you’ve got to do is marry? Twelve 
millions—think of the people who are happy with 
twelve dollars ! (Goes up.) 

Jimmie. You can’t tempt me. 

Goddard. (Comes down l.c.) Come on, now, 
Jim—think it over. 

Jimmie. Nor you either—I wouldn’t marry Cleo¬ 
patra. 

Meekin. (Comes down c.) Nobody’s asking you 
to marry her—but how about some nice modern girl 
who- 

Jimmie. Please shut up, will you? 



SEVEN CHANCES 39 

(Meekin goes r.) 

Garrison. (Crossing to Jimmie, Goddard goes 
up l.J Oh, yes, Jim, there’s one thing more. 

Jimmie. More? 

Garrison. If Meekin does convince you- 

Jimmie. He won’t. 

Garrison. In the last clause your grandfather 
said, “My grandson will not fail to realize that if he 
marries the wrong girl and just tries to stick the 
year out with her in order to get the money, it’ll be 
a year of hell.” 

Jimmie. Oh, Lord, how true! 

Garrison. I think that’s all. (Goes up c. and 
gets hat and umbrella.) 

Jimmie. That’s enough. 

Meekin. (To Garrison) Oh, Garri, if we want 
you, you’ll be home tonight ? 

Garrison. Where am I every night? (Exits l.J 

Ralph. (Enters R.cJ Say, Jim there’s a re¬ 
porter out there from the American, looking for you. 

Jim. For me? 

Ralph. Oh, I stalled him, though. I told him a 
couple of my stories. 

Jim. What’s he want? 

Ralph. Something about your grandfather’s will. 

Meekin. Holy Mike! 

Jimmie. Great Scott! The newspapers have got 
this already ! I’ll be the laughing stock of the world. 

Goddard. No, Jimmie, I think not—you forget 
the amount involved. 

Meek. That’s true—twelve millions are never 
funny. 

Jimmie. Tell him I’m out. (Crosses to r.) 

Ralph. (Catching him) Oh, Jim, he said he 
wouldn’t go till he knew when you’re thirty—and 
whether you’re engaged—and- 


40 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Jimmie. I’ll be thirty on—no, I’ll be hanged if I 
tell him. (Comes down to l. of Meekin.) 

Goddard. Oh, go ahead, Jimmie. 

Meekin. You might as well get rid of him. 

Jimmie. What, and have a bunch of reporters 
doing a death watch over me—“Seventy-two more 
hours for young Shannon to get married in—forty- 
eight hours more!” and so on? Never—my birth¬ 
day is my business—it’s my business, too, that I’m 
not engaged—although I suppose we can tell him 
that and nothing more. 

Goddard. They’ll look up your birth certificate, 
Jimmie. 

Jimmie. I wasn’t born in New York—I was born 
in a village that’s extinct like the dodo. Don’t either 
of you tell him. 

Goddard. But he’ll insist upon knowing. 

Ralph. Yes, Jim, he’s a stubborn chap. 

Meekin. He’ll only bother the life out of you if 
you don’t. 

Jimmie. Oh, all right; then it’s May- 

Meekin. Seventeenth. 

Jimmie. The seventeenth! (Crosses to l.) 

Ralph. May seventeenth? All right. I’m glad 
to do this for you, Jim. (Exits R.C.J 

Jimmie. Goddard, you see him —tell him as little 
as you can. 

Goddard. Jimmie, you’ll come around— you’re 
sure to marry eventually. 

Jimmie. Yes, like the ad, “Eventually, so why 
not now?” Not for me. (Goddard exits r.c.J 
Gosh, isn’t this a mess—twelve million dollars! 
(Comes around table to c., then down l. again.) 

Meekin. (Crossing to Jimmie) Of course it’s a 
mess—but don’t pay any attention to Garri—he’s an 
old fogy—take Goddard, he’s an example to follow. 

Jimmie, Please don’t argue with me, will you, 
please ? 


SEVEN CHANCES 


4i 


Meekin. Why, I haven’t even started yet. 
(Closer to him.) Now, Jim, isn’t there some girl 
you know that you could form a sort of—continental 
marriage with—that you could get along comfortably 
with for a year? 

Jimmie. No, there is not. 

Meekin. Mind you, I’m not advising—not even 
suggesting a youngster—a bud in the rosebud gar¬ 
den of girls—they ought to have their chance at ro¬ 
mance—but there must be some older girl—good- 
natured, good-looking enough—that you could take 
your proposition to—no bluff, no deception—and ask 
her how it looks to her—tell her we are a business- 
loving nation—and that this is a business proposition. 

Jimmie. That’d be a fine way to make love, 
wouldn’t it? 

Meekin. Will you be serious? 

Jimmie. Yes, I will— I want that money, Meek— 
now that I’ve realized for a moment what it means— 
gosh, how I want it—but I can’t fulfill the conditions 
of that will—you know how I’ve always felt about 
marriage— I can’t change my opinion in five minutes 
—and anyhow, what would people say—it wouldn’t 
be fair to the girl — I’m no Romeo. (Sits l. of table 
L.j 

Meekin. (Goes up c., then comes down behind 
table to Jimmie) Sentimental twaddle! With all 
that money behind you, they’d think it a beautiful 
marriage—and you might be happy. Anyhow, you 
could have your town house—your yacht—your 
motors—and apart from the mere luxuries—think of 
the possibilities of doing things—the real things 
you’ve always wanted to do. Why, you can carry 
out your own ideas—you can amount to something— 
you can be a big man, Jimmie—you can send boys to 
college like Hollister did—think what you said just 
now—you can give a fresh start to men and women 
who thought they’d finished—you can do anything, 


42 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Jimmie. (Jimmie rises and paces up c.) Six hun¬ 
dred thousand dollars a year- (Jimmie paces 

down c. Meekin looks at figures Jimmie wrote.) 

Sixteen hundred dollars a day- (Jimmie paces 

up c.) Seventy dollars an hour - (Jimmie 

paces down c.) That’s over a dollar a minute- 

(Jimmie paces down c., then up. Meekin, in dis¬ 
gust, sits in chair r. of table l. Jimmie comes down 
to r. of him.) 

Jimmie. Who can I marry? 

Meekin. (Rises and slaps him on the shoulder) 
Great, Jim, that’s the talk! 

Jimmie. After all, it’s the only thing my grand¬ 
father really ever asked of me and I suppose I ought 
to try it, anyhow. 

Meekin. Of course you should, Jim; the world 
is full of wives for you. 

Jimmie. Yes, but who—who—who the hell’d 
have me ? (Goes up and comes down.) 

Meekin. Yes, that’s so! (Jimmie goes up c., 
eyeing Meekin.) Still, you ought to be able to 
marry—it’s seven chances to one. 

Jimmie. Funny you should mention seven—that’s 
my lucky number. (Comes dozm r.J 

Meekin. Great! Then it’s a cinch—now, let me 
see- 

Jimmie. (Comes c.) How about Anne Windsor 
—I like Anne and she likes me a little, I think. 

Meekin. She’s my idea of the best possible wife 
for you. 

Jimmie. I’m glad we agree. I’ll call her up now. 
(Both start up to 'phone, then Meekin stops short.) 

Meekin. (Stops) Right. Oh, I forgot— when 
I saw her off just now she said she was going out 
of town. 

Jimmie. That’s so, she did mention it— had some 
house to decorate—she was peeved because I 
wouldn’t come to dinner. 






SEVEN CHANCES 


43 


Meekin. Was that it ? She did seem cross about 
something-—meant to catch the seven o’clock train to 
somewhere. (Both come down.) 

Jimmie. Seven again—to where? 

Meekin. I don’t remember. 

Jimmie. Why don’t you remember? 

Meekin. I don’t know — maybe she didn’t say. 

Jimmie. What time is it now? 

Meekin. (Takes out watch) About seven-thirty. 

Jimmie. Call her up. Maybe she missed it. 

Meekin. (Starts up to *phone, then stops and 
turns to Jimmie) Do you know her number? 

Jimmie. One—one—three—ha! (Crosses to l. 
of table l.) 

Meekin. One—one—three—please. 

Jimmie. (Crosses to R.) If I could only wait till 
she comes back, but I can’t. 

Meekin. Of course you can—send her a night 
letter. 

Jimmie. And be rude again— I should say not. 

Meekin. (Jimmie comes to r. of Meekin while 
he \phones) One—one—three—is Miss Windsor 
there, please ? Gone out of town with her mother— 
till Monday—where to ? Good-bye—the maid doesn’t 
know. 

Jimmie. (Comes down r.) Well, anyhow, after 
the way she talked to me I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t 
have me—too bad, too. I like Anne better than any 
girl I know. Oh, well, it’s all off. Come on. I’m 
going to quit this. (Starts up.) 

Meekin. (Stopping him) Nonsense—she’ll be 
back Monday. 

Jimmie. No— no—I can’t wait till then. 

Meekin. Certainly you can. 

Jimmie. No, if I’m going to tackle this job I might 
as well get started. I’ll begin tomorrow. 

Meekin. T omorrow ? 


44 SEVEN CHANCES 

Jimmie. Yes, tomorrow early—right after break¬ 
fast. 

Meekin. Great Scott, IVe never seen you want 
to hustle before. 

Jimmie. You’ve never seen me after twelve mil¬ 
lions before. 

Meekin. At last you’re getting some, sense. I 
tell you, Jim, we’ll work out a proposing schedule 
for tomorrow—ten A.M.—noon—two—four—six— 
eight—every two hours—every day—until you land 
one by the seventeenth. 

Jimmie. No —no— I don’t want them one at a 
time. 

Meekin. Well, you can’t ask them two at a time, 
can you? 

Jimmie. No, and I can’t go around day after day 
proposing, either. Bunches, I might try, but one 
never— I want to do it wholesale—tackle ’em all in 
one group. 

Meekin. I’ve got it—I’ll give a dinner tomorrow 
night—invite half a dozen girls. 

Jimmie. That’s the idea—then I’ll propose to ’em 
all right after dinner—food cheers me so — I’ll get a 
flying start—jump right from one girl to another— 
but, Great Scott, where’ll you have a dinner like 
that—there’s no decent place in this village. 

Meekin. Yes, there is—right here at the club — 
tomorrow’s Ladies’ Day. 

Jimmie. Say, that is luck. 

Meekin. Didn’t I tell you ? 

Jimmie. There’s another thing - If we dine 

here we’ll have everybody butting in—all the other 
guests, all over the place, and I’ve got to have some 
privacy. 

Meekin. (Agreeing) Yes, they’d all want to get 
a look at you, wouldn’t they ? 

Jimmie. It’d be a great treat for ’em, wouldn’t it 



SEVEN CHANCES 45 

—to get a look at me—you see, it’s cold, Meek. 
(Starting.) Come on. We can’t do it. 

Meekin. (Detaining him) Wait—I’ll find the 
house committee—get them to give us this room— 
and the billiard room—and the veranda outside just 
for ourselves. 

Jimmie. (Wisely) But they wouldn’t do that— 
even for you. 

Meekin. (Equally wisely) Oh, yes, they would 
—even for me—if I pay for all the decorations and 
the band. Bribery, that’s the scheme. 

Jimmie. Do you think you can do it? 

Meekin. You just leave it to me—we’ll have girls 
— fellows—music—candles—games—everything— 
now it’s all settled. 

Jimmie. Yes, all settled—dinner settled—music 
settled—lights settled—everything’s settled—except 
the girls I’m going to propose to. 

Meekin. Oh, yes, that is important. 

Jimmie. It is to me. 

Meekin. (Takes out memo, book) Let’s see— 
who do we know ? 

Jimmie. Of course I realize you’re going to run 
this thing—but so far as you can, will you have these 
girls pretty? 

Meekin. Nothing but queens. ( Sits.) How 

about Lilly Trevor—tall—dark? 

Jimmie. I know, but she always seems so sad. 

Meekin. Well, twelve millions’d cheer her up. 

Jimmie. Gee, I wish she were Anne. 

Meekin. What about Mary Ness? 

Jimmie. I should say not—she lisps. 

Meekin. Or Muriel ? 

Jimmie. She’s only a kid—too young—it wouldn’t 
be right. 

Meekin. Yes, that’s so- How about Marie 

Middleton ? 

Jimmie. That man-hunter—I should say not! 



SEVEN CHANCES 


46 

Why, she’s been engaged six times and nobody’d 
have her. Why pin her on me? 

Meekin. You might be lucky if you got her. 

Jimmie. Great Scott, you don’t think I’ll be driven 
to that! 

Meekin. No— no. 

Jimmie. I’ll bet she’d come in with the license up 
her sleeve—next! 

Meekin. There’s Betty Brown. 

Jimmie. I don’t think so much of her—still, she 
plays a fine game of bridge. 

Meekin. Yes, and that’d help pass the long win¬ 
ter evenings. 

Jimmie. It isn’t much, though, compared to Anne 
—Anne’s so damned human. 

Meekin. There’s Florence Jones. 

Jimmie. I don’t like her last name—still, that 
needn’t be permanent. 

Meekin. Well, how about Georgy Garrison? 

Jimmie. I like her. She’s a blonde—and I like 
blondes. 

Meekin. And Peggy Wood is a pippin. 

Jimmie. Peggy Wood- I like her name—it 

sounds promising—Peggy would! 

Meekin. They all seem pretty good— of course, 
this isn’t my complete list. I’ll dig up some more. 

Jimmie. Yes, that’s right, have plenty. No, 
Meek, I can’t do it! I can’t do it! (Starts up.) 

Meekin. (Stopping him) Of course you can— 
you act as though proposing were a criminal offense 
—they can’t do any more than say no. 

Jimmie. That’d be enough. What’ll I say to 
them—if I say it? 

Meekin. Trust to the inspiration of the moment 
—give them the facts—don’t try to make love—don’t 
be romantic—and above all, don’t be funny. 

Jimmie. I won’t be funny—it’s all too serious. 
Now—if they marry me- 



SEVEN CHANCES 47 

Meekin. If she marries you- 

Jimmie. Yes, one’s enough. It’s no use, Meek— 
I can’t do it! (Goes r.J 

Meekin. Jim, you act as if you were really afraid 
of girls. 

Jimmie. (Comes back to him) I am afraid of 
girls—more now than I’ve ever been. Think what 
it means—think what depends upon it—twelve mil¬ 
lion dollars—twelve million! Go on—get your girls ! 

Meekin. Ah, that’s the scheme—and don’t you 
worry—if you should fall down tomorrow night 
you’ve still got over a week till the seventeenth—this 
is only the sixth. 

Jimmie. Yes, the sixth—isn’t it terrible! 

Meekin. What’s terrible now? 

Jimmie. You guessed my birthday was the sev¬ 
enteenth—I wanted to let you think so—to let Garri 
think so because of the newspapers—but you guessed 
wrong. 

Meekin. Wrong—when is your birthday? 

Jimmie. It isn’t the seventeenth—it’s the seventh. 

Meekin. The seventh! But tomorrow’s the 
seventh! 

Jimmie. I know it is—and I’m not engaged—and 
I’m not in love—and I don’t know a girl in the world 
well enough to even hook her up the back—and I’ve 
got to be married by midnight tomorrow. 


CURTAIN 



ACT II 


Scene: Inside the Club—Thursday after dinner. 
Through the windows at back one sees the din¬ 
ner party on the veranda. The twelve guests 
are grouped about the table in the following or¬ 
der. There is general murmur of conversation 
at rise. 

(Meekin rises and holds up hand for music to stop.) 

Meekin. Ladies and gentlemen: 

All. Hear—hear! 

Meekin. We have with us tonight Mr. James 
Shannon. (Applause.) And although I am no 
speechmaker, it seems but fitting that, as dinner is 
nearly over, we should drink one final toast—of long 
life to Jimmie—to Jimmie! 

All. (Men rise) To Jimmie! (Men drink and 
sit.) Speech—speech—speech! (They ad lib. and 
urge Jimmie to make a speech.) 

Jimmie. (Shakes his head no, then rises and they 
all applaud) Ladies and gentlemen: I did not ex¬ 
pect to be called upon to make a speech this evening— 
this is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. 
I never thought my maiden speech would be made in 
my own behalf. (They turn with a look of query to 
each other.) There doesn’t seem to be anything I 
can say except that I would like to propose a toast to 
those with whom I hope to become better acquainted 
during the evening—here’s to the ladies—God bless 
them! 


48 




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Seven Chances 




































Seven Chances” & ee P a 9 e 49 







































































SEVEN CHANCES 49 

Men. (Rise) The ladies—God bless them! 
(Drink and sit.) 

Jimmie. And now —well—I guess that’s all. I 
thank you. {(Applause, laughter and general con¬ 
versation, and the music starts again.) 

Meekin. (After a moment of general talk — rises) 
Ladies and gentlemen: Dinner’s over. Mrs. Garri¬ 
son, we’ll join you presently in the billiard room— 
the one you helped decorate so very charmingly. 
I’ll make way for the ladies. 

(Meekin goes to door r.c. and as the guests are pass¬ 
ing out he has something to say to each one. 
George enters r.c. and pushes button up r. and 
turns on lights. Garrison rises from table and 
comes in door r.c.— as he enters, Mrs. Garri¬ 
son passes him going out.) 

Mrs. Garrison. Henry. (He pays no attention.) 
Garri! 

Garrison. Yes, my dear? 

Mrs. Garrison. Remember—no more liqueurs. 

Garrison. All right— all right ! (Goes out r.c.) 

(Joe meets Mrs. Garrison on veranda and exits 
with her. The Girls come around veranda to 
r. and enter door l.; as they pass Jimmie in the 
following order they each stop and speak some 
comment to Jimmie, then pass on out door r.c. 
and exit r. Betty, Peggy, Lilly, Georgy and 
Florence. 

(Ralph and Goddard have come to l. on veranda 
and stop to light cigarettes as the girls are pass¬ 
ing Jimmie. Goddard enters l. as Georgy is 
speaking to Jimmie, and coming to l.c., speaks 
to Garri, who has dropped down r. After the 
girls have all passed Jimmie, Ralph enters l. 
and speaks to him and exits r.c.) 


50 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Goddard. (Meeting Garrison down c.) Well, 
Garri, bully dinner, wasn’t it? 

Garrison. Yes, and mighty good champagne. 

Goddard. Meekin certainly dug up a bunch of 
corking pretty girls for Jimmie to choose from. 

Garrison. Jimmie’ll fall for one of them, I sup¬ 
pose—poor chap! 

Goddard. Let’s hope so. Have another liqueur ? 

Garrison. Oh, I might as well—my wife’ll think 
I had it anyhow. Make it quick. (Goddard and 
Garrison exit r.) 

(By this time all have passed out, leaving Jimmir 
and Meekin.) 

Jimmie. (Coming down r.c.J I can’t do it—I 
can’t do it! 

Meekin. (Coming down c.) You’ve got to— 
you have only three hours. 

Jimmie. Oh, that dinner—the way they all sat and 
glared at me! 

Meekin. All ready to accept you. 

Jimmie. I hope so. If the papers hadn’t had a 
column about me this morning we could have pulled 
this thing off quietly. However, they don’t know 
my birthday’s today! Gosh, that dinner—I felt like 
a freak! 

Meekin. You acted like one. 

Jimmie. (Turns on him) What do you mean, I 
acted like one ? 

Meekin. Embarrassed and ill at ease—and nerv¬ 
ous. 

Jimmie. Well, do you blame me? 

Meekin. And that speech! 

Jimmie. Well, I’ve heard worse. 

Meekin. Now it’s time you got busy. Who’ll 
you start with? 

Jimmie. I don’t know. What was it you said— 


SEVEN CHANCES 51 

give ’em the facts—don’t be—don’t be romantic, and 
don’t be funny. 

Meekin. That’s it—don’t be funny—if you can 
help it. Which girl do you want first ? 

Jimmie. I don’t know—they all look alike to me. 

Meekin. Leave it to me, then—I’ll send one of 
them out here now. (Starts up.) 

Jimmie. (Catching him) And have the others 
know I’m asking that girl first of all —you are an 
idiot! (Both come down.) 

Meekin. I thought I was managing this. 

Jimmie. Well, you’re not. I tell you what I’ll do. 
I’ll go out in the garden, you get one of them in 
here alone, and when you do, whistle for me and I’ll 
sneak back. (Crosses to l. J 

Meekin. What’ll I whistle ? 

Jimmie. I don’t know —anything appropriate— 
“Cuddle up a little closer.” 

Meekin. How does it go? 

(Jimmie whistles the tune, Meekin tries to get it 
and they get mixed.) 

Jimmie. That’s near enough—that’ll do. (Goes 
L.J And whatever you do, keep that Marie Middle- 
ton away from me—a year of hell. 

Meekin. I’ll protect you. (Starts up, stops and 
comes hack.) Oh, Jim, I forgot to tell you—I took 
your tip—bought 4,000 more shares of Yukon— 
hocked the family jewels and everything. 

Jimmie. Fine! I told you I’d make a rich man 
of you yet. Hurry up, Meek! Time fleets! 

Meekin. Time fleets—I’ll get Georgy Garrison. 
(Shakes his hand.) Oh, Jim, we’re off. 

Jimmie. Just think, if I’d been married three 
hours ago I’d have earned forty-eight hundred dol¬ 
lars by now. (Exits L. Music starts.) 

Meekin. (Looks at notebook) Number one! 


SEVEN CHANCES 


52 

(Starts to exit r.c., but meets Mrs. Garrison and 
Garrison as they enter. Mrs. Garrison has evening 
wrap on. Garri no hat or coat.) 

Mrs. Garrison. Oh, Mr. Meekin, Fm afraid we 
must say good night. 

Meekin. Oh, so soon? 

Mrs. Garrison. Fm not feeling very well—I 
think Fd better go home. 

Meekin. Georgy isn’t going too, is she? 

Mrs. Garrison. No, indeed, I arranged for her 
to leave later on. 

Meekin. That’s nice. Pardon me, won’t you— 
because I have this next dance with Georgy. (Goes 
to door r.) I’m so awfully sorry you’re not feeling 
well. Good night. (Exits r.) 

Mrs. Garrison. (Starts l.) Come, Garri. 

Garrison. Yes, run along home, dear. After all, 
it’s only a step. I guess I’ll stick around a while 
with the boys. 

Mrs. Garrison. Don’t stay too late. 

Garrison. My dear, you know me. 

Mrs. Garrison. Yes— that’s why I spoke. 

Garrison. I’ll be home about one. (Starts R.j 

Mrs. Garrison. I think, after all, you’d better 
come with me. 

Garrison. Now, my dear- 

Mrs. Garrison. Fm feeling very badly. I’ve got 
this pain in my side—I think it’s appendicitis. 

Garrison. Appendicitis! You’ve thought that 
for years—every time I want to stay anywhere you 
get that damned pain! 

Mrs. Garrison. (Annoyed) Oh, Garri, how can 
you? (Turns and meets Irene as she enters.) Oh, 
Irene! 

Irene. (Enters l.) Good evening, Mrs. Garri¬ 
son—Mr. Garrison. (Crosses to between them and 
is going up r.c.) 



SEVEN CHANCES 53 

Mrs. Garrison. Well— what on earth are you 
doing here? 

Garrison. Hello, kiddie. I thought you were at 
school. 

Irene. (Coming down) I was at school—but I 
had to come home—they have measles. 

Mrs. Garrison. Good gracious! (Shrinks from 
her to l.) 

.. Garrison. You don’t mean to tell me Meekin in¬ 
vited you to this party? 

Mrs. Garrison. Of course not—she’s much too 
young. 

Irene. I know—but it’s ladies’ day and they 
couldn’t very well put me out, could they ? Please 
don t tell my sister—she doesn’t know I’m home yet. 
I do so want to see Jimmie Shannon—I read all 
about that will on the train. Where is he? (Goes 
up and looks off r.c.J 

Mrs. Garrison. (Laughing) You foolish little 
girl! 

Garrison. Great Scott, Irene, you’re not think- 
ing of Jimmie at your age! 

Irene. Oh, that’s this dress—I hate it—and I’m 
seventeen. 

Mrs. Garrison. Irene! 

Irene. Well, I’m over sixteen. I don’t see why 
everybody treats me as if I were a perfect baby— 
can’t I just see him? (Goes up r.c. and looks off.) 

Mrs. Garrison. Irene—Jimmie’s in the other 
room with a lot of the older girls. Why, he wouldn’t 
bother with you. 

Irene. If I were all fussed up with a long train 
and my hair on top of my head, I bet I could make 
him bother a whole lot about me. 

Mrs. Garrison. Oh, ho! Well, I’m afraid I’ll 
have to tell your sister, Lilly. (Goes up r.c. ) 

Irene. (Goes l.J Oh, well, then I’ll go- 

(Stops and turns.) Can’t I just see him? 



54 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Mrs. Garrison. No! 

Irene. I think it’s a darned shame to treat me 
like this! (Exits L.) 

Mrs. Garrison. (Laughing) Ridiculous child! 
Come home, Garri. (Garrison laughs.) Garri, 
come home with me at once. (Exits lJ 

Garrison. All right—all right! Go to a party 
and leave in the middle of it—life is just one damned 
going home after another! (Exits l.) 

Meekin. (Enters r., looking for Georgy, goes up 
to door r.c. and calls) Oh, Georgy—Georgy—will 
you come here a minute, please ? 

Georgy. (Entering r.c.) What do you want me 
to come in here for ? 

Meekin. (Finding an excuse) Oh, to try our 
ladies’ day punch—pale and pink—one quart of 
claret to one barrel of water. (Helps her to a glass 
of punch. She takes it and stands r.c., sipping. 
Meekin stands by punch-bowl, looking off after 
Jimmie — is about to whistle, but forgets the tune, 
then remembers it and whistles, “Cuddle up a little 
closer.” 

Georgy. (Looking up and catching him whistling) 
What’s the matter, Mr. Meekin ? 

Meekin. (Taken by surprise, catching himself 
and laughing) Nothing. (Georgy sips her punch 
again, and as she is turned away, Meekin looks off 
and whistles again.) 

Georgy. Why, you look so funny standing there 
whistling. 

Meekin. (Catching himself again, laughs) 
Whistling! Was I whistling? Nervous, I guess— 
I’m always nervous when I—whistle when I’m ner¬ 
vous. (Changing the subject.) You don’t like your 
punch, do you? 

Georgy. No, I don’t, very much. (Puts it on 
table.) Oh, let’s go back to the party. (She starts.) 


SEVEN CHANCES 55 

Meekin. (Detaining her so she worit get away) 
No, don’t go—not yet. 

Georgy. But I love to dance. 

Meekin. You don’t want to go back in there with 
that Ladies’ Day crowd—stay out here at my party— 
just you and I—and I’ll teach you a new step. (She 
agrees to, he whistles and they dance down to r.c. 
His lips get dry and he gives a shrill whistle at the 
end, stops and laughs, embarrassed.) 

Georgy. (Breaks from him) Why, that’s not a 
new step. 

Meekin. Step left me with the tune. I’ll show 
it to you now. (They go up to position again and 
are about to start when Jimmie is heard whistling 
“I’m Coming,” from “Old Black Joe,” off l., as a 
signal that he is approaching. They hold the position 
as Meekin hears the signal. Meekin gives a look 
of satisfaction and relief, claps his hands and says) 
Everything’s all right now! (Laughs. She still holds 
her arms ready to dance. He turns to her and they 
dance down to r.c. and up c. as Jimmie enters l. 
and stands looking at them. Meekin looks up sud¬ 
denly as if just realizing he is there.) I was just 
teaching her a new step. (After a pause, just real¬ 
izing what to do next.) I’ll be right back! (Dashes 
off R.C.j 

(Jimmie stands awkwardly and smiles at Georgy, 
not knowing how to begin.) 

Georgy. Why, what was the matter with him ? 

Jimmie. (Coughs) Nothing—nothing, I guess. 

(She crosses to seat l.) Won’t you sit down, Georgy 
—I want to talk to you— (She turns )—seriously. 

Georgy. (Crosses to seat) Oh, you do? (Sits.) 

Jimmie. Yes, yes, I do. (Goes up to door r.c., 
looks off and comes down and sits R. beside her.) 
Georgy, do you like bull pups ? 


56 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Georgy. (Laughing) Why, yes, very much. 

Jimmie. I’ve got some down at the stable. 

Georgy. Have you ? 

Jimmie. Would you like one? 

Georgy. Oh, may I? 

Jimmie. Ill give you a pippin of a pup if you’ll 
help me. 

Georgy. Help you ? How can I ? 

Jimmie. Well, I suppose you read all about me 
in the papers this morning? 

Georgy. Naturally—twelve million! Isn’t it ex¬ 
citing ? 

Jimmie. Yes—-yes. I should say so. 

Georgy. And aren’t you fortunate to have ten 
days—at least so the papers said. 

Jimmie. Yes, so the papers said. 

Georgy. Of course you’ll marry someone. 

Jimmie. Oh, yes, yes. (Looks at her, smiling.) 
What beautiful hair you have, Georgy. You know, 
that’s my favorite color. I love the way it sort of 
curls behind your ear. 

Georgy. Thank you, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. And your voice—so low and throaty. 

Georgy. Throaty? Oh, but tell me—how can I 
help you? 

Jimmie. You can help me more than anyone in 
the world can—if you will- 

Georgy. I will—but how? 

Jimmie. Well—it’s this way, Georgy—if you were 
a fellow and you wanted to propose to a girl—how 
would you go about it—what would you say ? 

Georgy. Why, I don’t know —I’d just ask her. 

Jimmie. Just give her the facts, eh—nothing sen¬ 
timental—nothing romantic—nothing funny. 

Georgy. Why, yes, perhaps— I suppose that's a 
good way. 

Jimmie. Well, Georgy- 

Georgy. Yes, Jimmie? 



SEVEN CHANCES 


57 

Jimmie. After thinking over all the girls I know, 
whom do you suppose I thought of first? 

Lilly. (Enters R.C.J Hello, Jimmie! 

Jimmie. (Interrupted, rising) Lilly! 

Lilly. (Very romantic) Are you having a won¬ 
derful time? 

Jimmie. Yes, yes—never had a time like this in 
my life! 

Lilly. (Takes up 'phone) Eight—five—party J 
—please. (After two counts she sits.) 

Jimmie. (Pause) Is that going to be a long dis¬ 
tance call? 

Lilly. Oh, no, Fm just telephoning to see if my 
little sister, Irene, has come home. You know, we’re 
expecting her tonight. 

Jimmie. Yes? That’s nice. You’ll pardon us, 
won’t you? (Rises and goes up c.) I promised to 
show Georgy the bull pups. You want to see them, 
don’t you, Georgy ? 

Georgy. (Rises and comes up to him) Indeed I 
do. 

Jimmie. (Crossing l. with her) Forgive us, 
won’t you?—I’m so glad you want one of those pups, 
Georgy, because I know that any girl who likes dogs 

would like me- (Georgy laughs.) You know 

what I mean! (They go out l.) 

Lilly. I’m sure they’ll answer, central. (Pause.) 
Busy? (Puts down 'phone. Meekin comes steal¬ 
ing in r.c., looking for Jimmie, and is crossing to 
l.c. when Lilly startles him by speaking.) Hello, 
Mr. Meekin! 

Meekin. (Turns, taken by surprise) Hello, 
Lilly. Wasn’t Jimmie here? 

Lilly. (Rising and crossing to l.J Yes, but he 
just went into the garden with Georgy. (Music.) 

Meekin. (Relieved and smiling) Oh—I thought 
something had happened to him. 

Lilly. (Opening imndows l.c. and looking off) 



5 8 SEVEN CHANCES 

Oh, what a glorious night! You know, as I sat out 
there a little while ago, looking over the water with 
the silvery shadows from the moon, I could see em¬ 
battled fortresses, and moats and medieval knights. 

Meekin. (Incredulous, looks out over the Sound) 
You could see all that on the Sound? 

Lilly. Oh! You don’t understand, do you? 

(Jimmie is heard whistling, “I’m coming” off l.) 

Meekin. (Trying to get Lilly away) Lilly, may 
I get you an ice ? 

Lilly. Oh, no, thank you. I really don’t care 
for ices—they’re much too cold. 

Meekin. Then I’ll get you some hot consomme— 

hot chocolate—tomato bisque- (Music starts 

again.) I want to hear more about those moats and 
medieval knights. (They pass out R.c.J 

(Georgy runs on from l. and stops r. stage, then 
Jimmie follows and stops l.c.J 

Jimmie. What did you want to run away like 
that for? 

Georgy. You had no right to hold my hand. 
Jimmie. I had the right of a man about to ask a 
girl to marry him. 

Georgy. (Surprised) Jimmie—were you going 
to propose? 

Jimmie. Certainly I was. 

Georgy. (Regretfully) Oh, I had no idea- 

(Crosses to seat l.) Really—you were so unroman¬ 
tic talking about bull pups—or I should have let you 
finish. I’m sorry. (Sits.) 

Jimmie. That’s all right. That’s all right. 
Georgy. Well? 

Jimmie. Well, I’ll finish now. (Sits beside her.) 
Georgy, will you be my wife? 


SEVEN CHANCES 


59 


Georgy. No, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. What? 

Georgy. No, Jimmie—I can’t. 

Jimmie. Why not? 

Georgy. I’m engaged. 

Jimmie. Engaged! 

Georgy. Yes—secretly. 

Jimmie. Are you sure? 

Georgy. (Laughing) Of course I’m sure. 

Jimmie. Well, I mean, is it a sort of an under¬ 
standing on your part from his attitude, or does he 
know it too ? 

Georgy. Why, of course he knows it—it’s Joe. 

Jimmie. Joe? 

Georgy. Oh, Jimmie, I’m sorry. 

Jimmie. (Rises and crosses to r.) Not half as 
sorry as I am. I tell you, Georgy, when you’ve 
picked out the one girl in the world, it’s heart-break¬ 
ing to find she’s secretly engaged. I can’t tell you 
how disappointed I am. 

Georgy. Oh, Jimmie! (Rises and crosses to 
him.) You won’t let my refusing you break your 
heart or spoil your life, will you ? Why, I shouldn’t 
like to feel that—promise me. 

Jimmie. I promise. And you promise you won’t 
say anything to anybody, either, will you ? 

Georgy. Indeed I won’t—it’ll be just our little 
secret. 

Jimmie. Well, Georgy, as long as I can’t have 
you, I suppose I’ve got to make up my mind to take 
someone else. 

Georgy. Oh, I understand—and I forgive you. 

Jimmie. And I’d appreciate a little tip from you. 
Now, when Joe proposed to you—how did he go 
about it—what did he say? 

Georgy. He just asked me. 

Jimmie. Yes, I suppose he must have—but was 
he sentimental, romantic, practical—what? 


6o 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Georgy. Oh, he was wonderful! He kneeled 
down before me and said, “I love you, I adore you— 
I know I’m not worthy to be your husband, but 
won’t you make me the happiest man in the world, 
darling little woman?” (Jimmie laughs.) Oh, 
Jimmie—don’t laugh! 

Jimmie. Understand, I’m not laughing at you — 
I’m just laughing at the idea of my trying to say 
that, that’s all. 

Georgy. It’s a beautiful way. 

Jimmie. It must be—it worked—and I suppose 
even proposals repeat themselves. I’m very much 
obliged to you for the way you’ve taken things. 
(Scratches out her name in his book.) Georgy! 

Georgy. What ? 

\Jimmie. Oh, nothing—nothing. 

Joe. (Enters and comes down to l. of Georgy) 
Hello, Georgy! (Music.) I’ve just heard wonder¬ 
ful news—Yukon went up two points today. 

Georgy. Splendid — and I’ve just told Jimmie 
about us—but he won’t say anything. 

Jimmie. No. Congratulations, Joe, I envy you. 

Joe. And why not—everything’s great — stocks 
are up and we’re going to be married—I feel just 
like singing or dancing or something. 

(Meekin’s whistle is heard off r.c.J 

Jimmie. Don’t you feel like taking a walk or 
something ? 

Joe. Yes, that’s just what I do feel like. (They 
start to go lJ 

Jimmie. (Hearing Meekin’s signal and stopping 
them) Pardon me. (Goes up to Georgy.) You 
won’t forget your promise not to say anything? 
(Exits r.c., whistling (( Old Black Joe.”) 

Georgy. (Pause) No, indeed. (They start off 


SEVEN CHANCES 61 

l.J Poor Jimmie! You can never guess what hap¬ 
pened. 

Joe. What? 

Georgy. (As they are going out) I’ll tell you in 
the garden. Jimmie got me alone and the very first 
thing he asked me to marry him. 

Joe. (Stopping her) What? 

(Peggy enters r.c.J 

Georgy. Of course he didn’t know about you 
and me. (They start again.) 

Peggy. (Entering l.J Hello, Georgy. 

Georgy. (Stops and turns to her) Hello, Peggy. 

Peggy. I want to speak to you. 

Georgy. You don’t mind, Joe? 

Joe. Oh, of course. I’ll wait in the garden. 

Peggy. Have you seen Jimmie? 

Georgy. Rather—we had a nice chat. (Comes 
hack to c.J 

Peggy. Did he propose to you? 

Georgy. I could hardly tell you that. 

Peggy. Then of course he did. 

Georgy. No— we just talked about bull pups. 

Peggy. What else did Jimmie say? 

Georgy. He said he liked my voice—he said it 
was so low and throaty. 

Peggy. Throaty—he thought your voice was 
throaty. 

Georgy. That’s what he said. 

Peggy. (Thoughtfully) Oh—so he likes throaty 
voices. 

Georgy. He seemed to. (They start out l.J Now 
I’ll tell you all about Jimmie. Of course you won’t 

tell him I told you, because I promised faithfully- 

(Georgy and Peggy exit l.J 

(Jimmie and Meekin enter r.c.J 


62 


SEVEN CHANCES 

Jimmie. (Coming down l.J That was a fine 
start—proposing to an engaged girl! Why didn't 
you tell me she was engaged? 

Meekin. How the deuce did I know ? 

Jimmie. Well, find those things out. 

Meekin. Why pick on me? 

Jimmie. Why not—you got me into this? Do 
something! Who is there now ? 

Meekin. Eve got Lilly Trevor drinking con¬ 
somme- (He starts.) Oh, Jim—here's Peggy 

Wood coming this way. 

Jimmie. All right—I'll tackle her now. Listen, 
don't let Lilly get away—go entertain her. 

Meekin. How’ll I entertain her ? 

Jimmie. Recite to her—give imitations—do card 
tricks—but don’t let her get away. 

Meekin. All right—now, don’t lose your nerve. 

Jimmie. Don’t you worry about me. You know, 
I’m beginning to like this sort of thing.. 

Meekin. You’ll be an expert by midnight. 

(Peggy enters l.J 

Jimmie. Hello, Peggy. (She nods.) 

Meekin. You’ll pardon my running away like 
this, won’t you? I promised to recite some card 
tricks to Lilly Trevor. I’ll be right back. (Exits 
R.C.J 

Jimmie. Won’t you sit down, Peggy? (She sits 
in third seat l. He gets ready for his proposal.) 
Well, Peggy! 

Peggy. (Leaning forward and speaking with a 
low, throaty voice—an exaggerated imitation of an 
exaggerated imitation of Ethel Barrymore. She 
can scarcely be understood) Jimmie, I’m awfully 
glad to see you. 



SEVEN CHANCES 63 

Peggy. (Louder) Awfully glad to be here, Jim¬ 
mie. 

Jimmie. (Goes over to her) Awfully glad to 
have you here, Peggy. (Goes to R.) 

Peggy. It must be awfully hard to know just what 
to do. 

Jimmie. (Goes over to her) What? 

Peggy. (A little louder) I was saying, it must 
be awfully hard to know just what to do. 

Jimmie. No, not what to do—grandfather made 
that plain enough—but how to do it! Ha, ha! 
There he wasn’t so explicit. (Paces down to r. 
again,) 

Peggy. Proposing does seem to fluster a man, but 
I should think it was easy. 

Jimmie.. (Crossing to her) Eh? You should 
think it was what? 

Peggy. I say I should think it was easy to pro¬ 
pose. 

Jimmie. You should—well, you ought to try it. 
(Goes r. again.) 

Peggy. My dear Jimmie, there is something I 
want to tell you. 

Jimmie. What? 

Peggy. I say, there is something I want to tell 
you. 

Jimmie. What? 

Peggy. Something that has been on my mind. 

Jimmie. (Leaning over to her) Say, am I get¬ 
ting deaf, or have you got a cold ? 

Peggy. I thought you liked throaty voices. 

Jimmie. Like throaty voices—I detest them! 
(Goes up to door r.c.) 

Peggy. (Disappointed) Well, I have a cold, but 
I’ll try to talk louder. (More natural.) As I was 
saying, Jimmie- 

Jimmie. Listen, Peggy, listen, for I must tell you 
what’s in my heart- (He kneels.) I love you— 


SEVEN CHANCES 


64 

I adore you—I know you’re not worthy to be my 
w ife—I know I’m not worthy to be your husband— 
but, ah, do make me the happiest of men. Say you’ll 
be my wife—darling little woman! 

Peggy. Do you mean it? . 

Jimmie. You don’t suppose I’d be doing all this 
if I didn’t mean it, do you? 

Peggy. Jimmie, that doesn’t sound a bit like you. 

Jimmie. Well, I haven’t been myself tonight. 

Peggy. Jimmie, it’s very sweet of you to kneel at 
my feet and to make that impassioned plea—but I 
think the day for that sort of thing is past and gone. 

Jimmie. You do? 

Peggy. For me, no fuss—no lovey dovey^ senti¬ 
mental rubbish—just a practical platonic marriage— 
that’s my ideal. 

Jimmie. You mean just a sort of a business propo¬ 
sition ? 

Peggy. Exactly. 

Jimmie. At last—that’s fine! (Sits beside her.) 

Peggy. You don’t mean that would appeal to you 1 

Jimmie. Certainly it would. 

Peggy. But you spoke of love—and sentiment— 
and adoration- 

Jimmie. I know—but if I can’t get what I want, 
I’ll take what I can get. 

Peggy. Jimmie, that’s very sensible of you, and 
I think we’ll be very happy—with our separate es¬ 
tablishments—you with your little bachelor apart¬ 
ment in town—and I with my country estate—of 
course, you’ll have to be in town a good deal of the 
time anyway. 

Jimmie. (Shaking his head) Yes, but I’m afraid 
that wouldn’t quite do. 

Peggy. But it’s the ideal marriage. 

Jimmie. I grant you that, but you see, my grand¬ 
father was rather eccentric and his will stipulated 
that during the first year of our married life my 


SEVEN CHANCES 65 

wife and I must not separate or live apart for more 
than two consecutive days. 

Peggy. Live apart—why did he stipulate that ? 

Jimmie. (Awkwardly) Well, you see—I’m the 
last of the Shannons- (Coughs.) Now, grand¬ 

father wanted me to marry in order to—-carry on the 
Shannon traditions. 

Peggy. Carry on the Shannon traditions? 

Jimmie. Yes—to—er—you understand what I 
mean—to—ah—perpetuate the family. 

Peggy. Perpetuate ? 

Jimmie. The race—the family. You see, he pic¬ 
tured me on one side of the fireplace and you—he 
was very fond of you, Peggy — there you were on 
the other—and eight or ten tots about. 

Peggy. Eight or ten ? 

Jimmie. Well, six or seven, however it may turn 

out. 

Peggy. Six or seven! Perpetuate the family! 
(As it dawns on her she rises, highly insulted.) How 
dare you, Mr. Shannon—how dare you insult me! 
(Goes up c.) 

Jimmie. (Rises) But Pm not insulting you— 
Pm asking you to marry me, Lilly. 

Peggy. Lilly! 

Jimmie. I meant Peggy. 

Peggy. Perpetuate your family! Do you think 
I’m that sort of woman—perpetuate your own fam¬ 
ily! (Exits r.c.J 

Jimmie. Oh! (Takes out book and scratches her 
name off.) 

Meekin. (Enters r., comes down to r. of Jim¬ 
mie and sees him scratching out name in book) 
Didn’t Peggy accept you ? 

Jimmie. She did not—she doesn’t want to be 
married—she wants to be endowed. 

Meekin. She didn’t seem like that. 

Jimmie. None of ’em seem the way they ought 


66 SEVEN CHANCES 

to be. What are you doing standing there wasting 
my time? 

Meekin. Don’t worry! I’ll get you one. 

Jimmie. Hasten! 

Meekin. (Goes up to door r.c.J Oh, Jim, here 
come a couple now. 

Jimmie. Who are they? 

Meekin. Can’t make out from here—but it 
doesn’t matter, either of ’em’ll do—I only picked 
peaches—which one do you want? 

Jimmie. How do I know? 

Meekin. That’s so—well, you step in that room. 
I’ll get them here and plant them, and then bring 
you along. Just leave it all to me. 

Jimmie. (Crosses to door r.J You’ve been a 
great help to me this evening, Meek. (Exits R.J 
Meekin. I’ve had a lot of experience. (Flor¬ 
ence and Betty enter R.c.J Hello, girls! 

Girls. Hello. 

Meekin. Having a good, time ? 

Betty. Perfectly delightful. 

Florence. So nice of you to ask us. 

Meekin. (Imitates her tone) So nice of you to 
come. Why aren’t you dancing? 

Betty. We don’t care for the one-step, it’s so old- 
fashioned. 

Meekin. Well, I’ll have them play a fox-trot. 
Betty. That’ll be lovely. 

Florence. That’s fine. 

Meekin. Will you sit here and wait for me? 
Don’t go away. I’ll be right back. (Goes up to 
door r.c.— the girls sit l.) 

Florence. I hope he gets us a partner. 

Betty. Anybody but that story-teller. 

(Meekin has gone up to window r.c., but does not 
go out; when he sees the girls seated, he goes to 
door r., motions for Jimmie, who enters r., and 


SEVEN CHANCES 


6 7 

they come to c., keeping time to the music. 
Meekin points to the two girls. Jimmie is 
pleased with them, shakes Meekin’s hand. 
MeEkin motions to Jimmie to pick one of them. 
Jimmie covers his eyes with his left hand and 
picks one of the girls blind with the right hand 
on the fifth count. Meekin looks along the 
direction of Jimmie's finger to see which girl he 
picked, goes over and points to Betty. Jimmie 
claps his hands and motions that he picked the 
other girl. Meekin pretends to ignore his choice 
and is about to speak to Betty when Jimmie 
claps his hands again and with larger and more 
decisive gestures insists that he chooses the other 
girl. Meekin gives in and goes to back of girls 
between them and yells, the girls jump and 
scream.) 

Meekin. Scared you, didn't I? What were you 
doing, dreaming about your heroes? (Points to 
Jimmie.) Look who’s with me. 

Jimmie. Hello, girls. 

Florence. Hello, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. (Comes down r. and flirts with Flor¬ 
ence) I want to talk to you, Florence. 

Florence. Really ? 

Meekin. And I want a little chat with you, 
Betty. 

Betty. All right—what about? 

Meekin. I can’t talk to you in here. (Betty 
rises and comes up to him.) Come out into the gar¬ 
den—for as I sat there a little while ago, beneath 
the silver shadows of the moon, I could see medieval 
mutts. 

Betty. What ? 

Meekin. Moats and embattled fortresses. (As 
they pass out l.) 

Jimmie, (Comes over to Florence) Now, I 


68 SEVEN CHANCES 

suppose you read about me in the papers this morn¬ 
ing, Florence. 

Florence. Oh, is that what you wanted to talk 
to me about? 

Jimmie. You see, I'll have twelve million dollars. 

Florence. It's no use, Jimmie. (Jimmie sits be¬ 
side her—she rises and gets to c.) I know what 
you’re going to say. 

Jimmie. You do? I wish I did! 

Florence. You want me to marry you. 

Jimmie. And you will? 

Florence. No, Jimmie. I want a man who can 
compel me—a big man—a man of strength—a man 
who will take me up in his arms and carry me away 

to some far-off cave- (Pause.) You couldn’t do 

that. 

Jimmie. (Looking her over) No, I guess you’re 
right. 

Florence. You wouldn’t even try. 

Jimmie. Not unless I went into training. 

Florence. (Stamps her foot and goes r.J You 
joke about it. 

Jimmie. It’s no joke to think of carrying you to 
some far-off cave. (Florence starts.) Well, if 
you must be going, you must he going. Good-bye, 
Florence. 

Florence. Good-bye! (Exits r.c.J 

Meekin. (Entering l.) Well, how about it ? 

Jimmie. She wanted a cave man. (Takes out 
book and scratches out her name.) 

Meekin. Out? 

Jimmie. Out! Who is there now? 

Meekin. I’ve got Lilly all set. 

Jimmie. Then bring on Lilly! 

Meekin. Remember" what I said. No sentiment, 
no romance—just give her the facts. 

Jimmie. I’m through with that romance rubbish 


SEVEN CHANCES 69 

—-it just bags your trousers and doesn’t get you any- 
where. 

Meekin. (Goes up to door r.c. and stops) Gosh 
Peter, I forgot where I left her. 

Jimmie. Of course you would, when every mo¬ 
ment’s precious! 

Meekin. Oh, I remember—on the Sound. 

Jimmie. Well, I can’t propose to her out there. 

Meekin. I mean on the moats, an embattled for¬ 
tress. 

Jimmie. What’s the matter with you? 

Meekin. (Imitating Lilly) Oh, you don’t un¬ 
derstand, do you! (Exits r.c.) 

Jimmie. (Rehearsing his proposal) No sentiment 

no romance—I’m not one to beat about the bush. 

(Lilly enters r.c. and comes down to Jimmie and 
touches him on the arm; he turns to her with a 
wide gesture, takes her hand and swings her 
around to seat l. She sits.) 

Lilly. Jimmie! 

Jimmie. Lilly, I’m not one to beat about the bush. 
With me—no sentiment—no romance—just plain, 
practical common sense—plus friendship. We are 
friends, aren’t we, Lilly? 

Lilly. Of course we are, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. (Sits beside her) Then, Lilly, don’t you 
think that a marriage based on congeniality could 
be happy? 

Lilly. No, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. At any rate, for a year? 

Lilly. Not even for ten minutes. There must 
be love—real love—the love that comes down from 
the brave days of old. 

Jimmie. (Looks around zvhere Meekin went 
out) Really ? And yet there must be somewhere a 
charming, delightful girl who would marry me. 


70 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Lilly. Oh, I don’t know—maybe—maybe there 
are dozens of them. 

Jimmie. I want only one. Lilly, do you by any 
chance know her—know a girl who has known me 
and liked me and could take me and my proposition, 
my business proposition, and look it in the face and 
forget love? (Very slowly.) Could you, Lilly— 
would you, Lilly—will you, Lilly? 

Lilly. Oh, Jimmie—I’m afraid not. 

Jimmie. Well, of course I hardly hoped you’d 

say yes, right off the reel- You know, you’ve 

such beautiful hair, Lilly. My favorite color. I 
love the way it sort of curls behind your ear. You 
are the one girl in the whole world that I’ve picked 
out and I won’t take no for an answer. 

Lilly. But it is no, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. Well, don’t you think you could sort of 
grow to love me? 

Lilly. No, Jimmie—and for me, marriage with¬ 
out love is impossible. Oh, I’ve dreamed of my great 
romance—romance like that in the days gone by 
when knights went out to battle for the glove of a 
lady. 

Jimmie. You’ve been dreaming too much. You 
see, that’s the old idea. We don’t go in much for 
love nowadays. Think, Lilly, think—instead of hold¬ 
ing hands—clipping coupons. 

Lilly. (Rises and crosses to r.) Oh, but I 
wouldn’t give up my dreams for all the millions in 
the world. Just think, Jimmie, pretty soon I shall 
be like these flowers. (Bouquet.) It’s sort of pa¬ 
thetic, isn’t it? For, after all, they’ve been gathered 
—and they’ve been worn—while I—I’m to wither 
where I grow. 

Jimmie. (Rises) Why wither—marry me and 
stay young. You could have any darned thing you 
want, Lilly! 

Lilly. Oh, even that wouldn’t make up for ro- 



SEVEN CHANCES 71 

mance and the flower of love. I must have the one, 
one man—my prince of dreams! 

Jimmie. You know, I’m beginning to think you’re 
actually refusing me. 

Lilly. Yes, I am, Jimmie—and I’m sorry. Oh, 
Jimmie, I may as well be honest with you—I’ve had 
my one romance—it’s the memory of it that keeps 

me happy- Oh, Jimmie! Oh, Jimmie! (Turns 

up, sobbing.) 

Jimmie. (Looking about to see that no one is 
coming) Well, of course, I don’t like to break in on 
your happiness—but do you mind telling me how he 
proposed to you? 

Lilly. (Turning) Oh, I don’t know—he just 
sort of looked at me—and I looked back at him— 
and ive knezv. 

Jimmie. Didn’t he say anything? 

Lilly. No —we saw it in each other’s eyes. 

Jimmie. You saw it in his eyes? 

Lilly. In his blue-blue eyes. Oh, Jimmie— 
Jimmie! (Goes up to door r.c. and turns. Jimmie 
goes to l. She exits r.c. Jimmie scratches her 
name out.) 

Meekin. (Enters R.) Did Lilly refuse you? 

Jimmie. Your intuition is extraordinary. 

Meekin. I wouldn’t have believed it of her. 

Jimmie. She doesn’t want money—she wants the 
flower of love—whatever that is. I had the wrong 
make-up for that girl—I should have had a plumed 
hat and a cart-wheel coat and a sword. (Strikes at¬ 
titude.) I tell you, Meek, women are the limit! 

Meekin. Well, if at first- 

Jimmie. Don’t you worry—I’ll tiy again. I’ll be 
the most engaged man you ever saw. Great Scott, 
only two hours and twenty minutes! And you with 
the stuflf that women want no sentiment, no romance, 
that bunk—that’s just what they do want—they 
love it. 




72 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Meekin. Well, try it that way, then. 

Timmie. I’m going to. Who bats after Lilly? 

(’PHONE.) 

Meekin. (’Phone rings. Goes to ’phone) Hello, 
yes—just a minute, please. He’s right here. Oh, 
Jim, a lady wants to talk to you. 

Jimmie. A lady? (Takes ’phone) Hello—yes— 
oh, hello, Ethel! (To Meekin) Beat it, I’ve got 
a nibble! (Meekin exits r.c.) Hello, Ethel—cer¬ 
tainly Meek sent you an invitation. The party was 
really given in your honor.—That’s right, twelve mil¬ 
lion dollars.—Yes, I know.—Always been the best 
of friends.—Ethel, there’s something I want to ask 
you.—Will you marry me?—Central, get that party 
back for me, will you?—Hello!—no, this isn’t the 
garage!—Hello, will you marry me?—Huh?—No, 
not you, Central.—Hello, that you, Ethel? Did you 
hear what I asked you? That’s fine, but there’s 
something very important. We’ve got to be married 
by midnight. Yes, still goes.—Great! I’ll be right 
over and get you right away. Where are you— 
where? Poughkeepsie? (Puts down ’phone.) 

Meekin. (Enters r.c.J Jim, did the girl on the 
telephone accept you? 

Jimmie. She did—but she’s in Poughkeepsie. 

Meekin. That’s great! I’ve good news at last! 
Anne is home. 

Jimmie. Anne? But she’d gone away till Mon¬ 
day. 

Meekin. I know—started for the Adirondacks— 
but she changed, her mind, spent the night in Albany 
and got back an hour ago. She telephoned over to 
see if Lilly was here. I talked to her, begged her 
to come right over, and fixed it. She’s on her way. 

Jimmie. Oh, Anne!—the girl I wanted first of 

all. Now, when all the other girls have failed - 

You’re right, Meek—it is good news, great news— 
dear old Anne! 


SEVEN CHANCES 


73 


Meekin. Now listen, Jim. I’ve thought this all 
over—you’ve got to be more personal v 

Jimmie. Personal? ^ C 

Meekin. Yes, now when Anne comes, hold her 
hand—talk to her about her eyes, her hair—lay the 
slush on thick. Will you try it? 

Jimmie. I’ve tried everything else—I might as 
well try that—but to me it seems hopeless. (Sud¬ 
denly ) How would it be if I just looked in her 
eyes? 

Meekin. Great! Where did you get it? 

Jimmie. Oh, I’ve been a busy little fellow to¬ 
night—I’ve picked up a lot of points. 

Meekin. Oh, and another thing—what’ll I have 
the orchestra play ? 

Jimmie. Which orchestra play what? 

MeekiN. Sure—they always have it on the stage 
—sentimental tunes for love scenes—the power of 
suggestion—something sad and plaintive. 

Jimmie. That’s the idea. I feel sad and plain¬ 
tive—but don’t start the sneaky music too soon— 
wait till I work up to the love speech, will you? 

Meekin. How’ll I know? 

Jimmie. Stick around and listen until I say, “A 
book of verses underneath the bough”—then turn 
on the band and beat it, understand ? 

Meekin. “A book of verses underneath the 


bough”—all right—now I’ll get Anne. 

R.C.) 

She’s here? 

Yes. 

Why didn’t you say so? 

I want to coach you first. 


(Starts up 


Jimmie. 

Meekin. 

Jimmie. 

Meekin. I want to coach you first. (Goes up to 
door R.c.) 

Jimmie. That was nice of you. 

Anne. (Enters R.c.J Hello, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. Oh, Anne—I’m mighty glad to -see you. 



74 SEVEN CHANCES 

Anne. (Shakes hands) And I’m mighty glad to 
see you, too. 

Meekin. You’ll excuse me, won’t you— I have to 
see the orchestra leader. (Exits r.c.J 

Jimmie. Well, Anne, this is good of you. 

Anne. I’ve read all about you, Jimmie—may I 
congratulate you? 

Jimmie. No, you may not. 

Anne. Aren’t you engaged yet? 

Jimmie. (Emphatically) I am not. 

Anne. (Quizzically) How on earth have you 
escaped ? 

Jimmie. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? I’ll admit, 
though, I’ve been pursued. 

Anne. Millions tend to popularity. 

Jimmie. Yes, but I’m not thinking of the millions 
now—but of the girl. 

Anne. What girl? 

Jimmie. (Grandly) Ah, what girl! (Getting 
ready for his campaign.) Well, Anne! 

Anne. (Imitating his tone) Well, Jimmie! 

Jimmie. Sit down, Anne—I want to talk to you. 
(Anne starts l.) Not there—it’s unlucky. (Places 
chair r.c. to c.) 

(Anne sits. Jimmie gets chair at telephone table, 
sees Meekin on veranda waiting for signal, mo¬ 
tions him, “Not yet.” Meekin exits r. Jim¬ 
mie brings chair down to l. of her and stands 
behind it, blinking his eyes at her.) 

Anne. What’s the matter, Jimmie? 

Jimmie. (Sits in chair facing her) Do you see 
anything in my eyes? 

Anne. No. (He rubs his eyes.) Don’t rub it — 
perhaps it’s a cinder. 

Jimmie. All right—it’s out. Oh, Anne, I wish 
you’d been here at the dinner tonight. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


75 


Anne. I do too, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. (Sighing) And I wish there’d only been 
you and me. 

Anne. (During all this scene , Anne, conscious 
of what Jimmie has in mind, is directing the conver¬ 
sation in appropriate channels and making it easy 
for him) Well, that could be remedied. 

Jimmie. How? 

Anne. Ask me to dinner tomorrow —(Switches 
chair around, facing him) —alone. 

Jimmie. I will. Will you come? 

Anne. Oh, rather—I should love to dine with a 
millionaire. 

(Meekin strolls on veranda.) 

Jimmie. Yes, but I’m not a millionaire. 

Anne. But you will be. 

Jimmie. (Reflectively) Yes. (Motions Meekin 
and he exits.) 

Anne. (Turning front, arm on back of chair) 
It must be an exciting sensation to suddenly fall into 
millions. 

Jimmie. It’s nerve-racking. 

Anne. And with all that huge income to spend 
—you can do anything—so can your wife. 

Jimmie. Pretty nearly. 

Anne. Money is the most important thing in the 
world, isn’t it? 

Jimmie. Well, I should say so. 

Anne. Still, love’s not to be despised. 

Jimmie. Rather not. (Warmly.) Oh, Anne, I 
do like you. 

Anne. (With a glint in her eye) Do you, Jim¬ 
mie? 

Jimmie. And you like me a little, don’t you? 

Anne. Huh, huh! 

Jimmie. In spite of my rudeness? 


;6 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Anne. (Practically) Of course I do. 

Jimmie. You forgive all that, don’t you? 

Anne. Of course. 

Jimmie. (Rises and goes up c., putting chair up 
to table c.) “A book of verses underneath the 
bough.” 

(Meekin is seen on veranda and at Jimmie’s signal 
he dashes off R. and the music starts.) 

Anne. Oh, that is flattering of you. 

Jimmie. (Above her) It’s a pretty poem, isn’t 
it? 

Anne. (Twinkling) Yes—and it’s a nice idea. 
(Turns in her chair to R., looking off.) What a 
pretty song! 

Jimmie. (Coming down to r. of her) Isn’t it? 
So haunting—so full of unspoken things—it some¬ 
how fits my mood tonight. 

Anne. Does it, Jimmie? 

Jimmie. (Encouraged) Isn’t that a new ring, 
Anne? (Takes her hand.) 

Anne. I’ve worn it a year. 

Jimmie. Funny—I never noticed it before. 

Anne. Yes. 

Jimmie. (Suddenly) You're not engaged, are 
you, Anne? 

Anne. No, Jimmie. Why? 

Jimmie. (Looking where he and Georgy sat) 
Nothing. How very black your eyes are. 

Anne. They’re brown. 

Jimmie. They seem black to me. 

Anne. (Helpfully) Perhaps they do in some 
lights. 

Jimmie. You’ve nice eyes, Anne— I like the way 
they look at you. 

Anne. (Generously) I like that, Jimmie. 


SEVEN CHANCES 77 

Jimmie. And your hand—so firm and strong, so 
full of character. 

Anne. (Still letting him hold her hand) You’ve 
a nice hand, too, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. What beautiful hair you have, Anne— 
my favorite color. I love the way it sort of curls 
behind your ear. 

Anne. You’re sentimental tonight, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. Yes, I suppose I am. 

Anne. I’ve never seen you like this before. (She 
starts to take her hand away.) 

Jimmie. Ah! Don’t move. You know—as you 
sit there now your hair—why, it looks like a sunset 
on a summer sea. 

Anne. (Suppressing her humor, but almost burst¬ 
ing) That’s beautiful, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. (Sighing) Oh, Anne! 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie! 

Jimmie. (Full of romance) If I could only say 
the things I feel. 

Anne. I know—I know how hard it is to say 
what one really feels. 

Jimmie. You do understand so well. 

Anne. Indeed I do. 

Jimmie. Isn’t it wonderful—after loving a girl 
all these years—a girl with lovely black-brown eyes 
—and long, long lashes—and beautiful hair and 
hands—and never being able to afford to speak— 
suddenly luck or fate plays into a fellow’s hands and 

makes it possible for him to - (Anne covers her, 

face, laughing.) What’s the matter? 

Anne. (Looking up, barely able to speak) You’re 
so funny! 

Jimmie. Funny?—I’m making love to you. 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie! (Rises, laughing.) If you 
were eighteen, I could forgive you—but at thirty! 
Oh, Jimmie — Jimmie - (Goes to l.c .) 

Jimmie. Anne, I want that money. 




78 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Anne. Of course you want it. 

Jimmie. Will you help me get it? 

Anne. Oh, so you’ve chosen me, eh ? But there 
is just one thing, Jimmie—I’m in love. 

Jimmie. I don’t mind. 

Anne. You’re not interested who it is? 

Jimmie. Not a bit. 

Anne. As I am in love with a man who doesn’t 
love me—I’ve put aside my romance for this idea of 
a commercial marriage with you—but there’s one ob¬ 
stacle. 

Jimmie. For the love of heaven—what is it? 

Anne. Have you ever been in love—really in 
love? 

Jimmie. (Convincingly) No, Anne, never—once 
when I was eighteen I thought I was, but it was 
just, you know—curiosity. No, Anne, I can come 
to you—how is it they say ?—“heart whole and fancy 
free”! 

Anne. That’s just what I was afraid of. 

Jimmie. Afraid? 

Anne. Some day you will fall in love—and when 
you do—well, I couldn’t bear to be married to a man 
who loved someone else. 

Jimmie. But I promise you I won’t fall in love. 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie—have you the slightest con¬ 
ception of what loving someone and wanting that 
someone really means? 

Jimmie. No, not the slightest. 

Anne. Then, Jimmie, when you do want her— 
God help you if you don’t get her! 

Jimmie. (Impressed) It’s like that, is it? 

Anne. Just like that. 

Jimm;ie. (Pausing and half ashamed) Well, 
Anne, I want to take back that “sunset on a summer 
sea.” I thought girls liked that sort of thing. 

Anne. (Pause, then smiling) You don’t love me, 
Jimmie—the least bit. (Slight move to him.) 


SEVEN CHANCES 


79 


Jimmie. (Honestly) I didn’t, Anne, but I be¬ 
lieve I’m beginning to—I really believe I would— 
that’s honest. Now what do you say? 

Anne. (Pause, slight move back) Jimmie—this 
morning when I read the papers on the train—to tell 
the truth, that’s why I came back so unexpectedly— 
I asked myself the question—“Would you marry him 
—would you, Anne? Now, you’ve known Jimmie 
for a long time. You know all his bachelor faults— 
his odd little ways—and his good points, too—now, 
knowing him as you do, would you consider—I mean, 

would you-” (Changing abruptly) Well, would 

you? 

Jimmie. Well, would you? 

Anne. Yes. 

Jimmie. (Scarcely believing it) Oh, Anne, you’ve 
made me very happy—everything will be all right. 
Why shouldn’t it, with all that money ? And, by the 
way, to get it we’ve got to marry pretty soon— 
that’s wonderful, Anne. (Takes her in his arms , at¬ 
tempting to kiss her; she withdraws from his em¬ 
brace and steps back.) What’s the matter? 

Anne. (With deep feeling) I thought I could, 
but I can’t. Oh, Jimmie, you don’t know what it 
means to me—to give it all up! You don’t know 
what mother went through—what I went through to 
keep us alive—until we got that dab of money from 
my uncle. We went hungry, Jimmie, and cold—and 
made our own clothes over and over again. Do 
you know what it means for two women to fight 
the world—and fail? And then came our thousand 
—our great big thousand dollars—oh, the joy of it! 
—of being able to live just a little—but it had all left 
its scars, scars on the brain, scars on the heart. We 
were beaten, Jimmie, and afraid to enjoy—almost 
afraid to live. And then you came along. You 
can’t imagine how I dreamed this morning—how I 
thought and argued—and how I hoped! We could 



8 o 


SEVEN CHANCES 


have everything—luxuries and comforts—pretty 
things—and courage and power—and live, Jimmie, 
live! And so I said “yes” to myself—I said it to 
you and I meant it then—but I can’t do it. It’s a 
high price you offer, Jimmie—millions—it’s a ghastly 
temptation—but, oh, Jimmie, I’m not for sale—I’m 
not for sale! 

Jimmie. Why, Anne, I never even faintly real¬ 
ized I was offering to buy you. 

Anne. I believe you, Jimmie. 

Jimmie. And I’m sorry, Anne, mighty sorry. 

Anne. (Getting back her poise) It’s all right, 
Jimmie—all right. 

Jimmie. (Curiously) It’s hard to believe, though, 
that practical Anne- 

Anne. I do keep my pose pretty well, don’t I ? 

Jimmie. There are two of you alike. 

Anne. Not even one. (Exits u.l.J 

Meekin. (Enters r.J Where’s Anne? 

Jimmie. (Goes up l.c.J Gone. 

Meekin. You don’t mean - 

Jimmie. Yes, I do. 

Meekin. That’s too bad—well, don’t be discour- 
aged. (Puts chair Anne has been sitting in back in 
place.) 

Jimmie. Discouraged! Say, what the devil’s the 
matter with me? 

Meekin. Why, nothing. 

Jimmie. Nothing? Eve proposed to six girls — 
they ve all thrown me flat. Lots of poor men marry 
—blind men, lame men, men who stutter or drink or 
beat their wives. I don’t do those things— any of 
them. 

Meekin. The trouble is we’ve been altogether too 
fussy—we’ve tried ’em too young and pretty—the 

thing to do now is to find some older girl—thirty_ 

thirty-five or forty. Marjorie White—she’s thirty- 
five if she’s a day, and not a bit pretty. 



SEVEN CHANCES 


81 


Jimmie. I don’t want that sort of a girl—I don’t 
want any girl—I tell you, Meek, that I’ve finished! 

Meekin. What’s happened to you, Jimmie? You 
act as if you were really in love with Anne! (He 
laughs.) 

Jimmie. What are you laughing at—what’s funny 
in that? 

Meekin. (Stops laughing, turning on him in sur¬ 
prise) Are you in love with Anne? 

Jimmie. (Confused) Of course not—certainly 
not! 

Meekin. (Crosses to l.) Oh, you’ll get all over 
this when you get out of your trance. Now for Mar¬ 
jorie White—she’ll make you a good, comfortable 
wife even if she is homely. I’ll run get her—she 
only lives a mile from here. (Exits l.J 

Goddard. (Enters r.J Say, Jim, have you heard 
about Yukon? 

Jimmie. What about it? 

Goddard. My brokers just telephoned me that 
Meyer & Co. are giving up the project. 

Jimmie. What? 

Goddard. Because they can’t get a clear title to 
the property. Why, the bottom’ll drop out of it to¬ 
morrow ! 

Jimmie. And Meek! Poor Meek—he put every 
cent he had in it—bought 4,000 shares more- 

Goddard. He did ? 

Jimmie. Just because I said I’d back him. Do 
you realize what that means to him? Everything 
busted, smashed—and I’m to blame! 

Goddard. Oh, say, Jim, but you can fix all that, 
with your twelve millions, when you marry—unless 

you’re not going to marry- Say, aren’t you? 

(Takes his arm and faces him around.) 

Jimmie. Yes, I’m going to marry and mighty 
soon. I’ve got to now—for Meek’s sake—if I can. 


82 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Goddard. Well, of course you can. 

Jimmie. Yes, of course I can—when six girls 
have all thrown me flat. 

Goddard. What? 

Jimmie. And I’ll have twelve million dollars! 
I can’t understand it. My God, I can’t be as homely 
as all that, you know! 

Goddard. Oh, well, there must be somebody. 
Jimmie. Yes, there must be somebody—but who 
—who? I’ve only one hour—one short hour. 
Goddard. Marjorie White! 

Jimmie. Meek’s on his way there now. I’ll ’phone 
him to bring her right over. It’s an awful thought, 
though. 

Goddard. Yes, it is. I’ll try and dig up somebody 
else. 

Jimmie. Dig? It looks as if we’d have to blast! 

(Goddard exits r. Jimmie gets telephone book and 
brings it down to back of chair r. and begins to 
look up number. Irene enters l. dressed as a 
much older girl. She sees Jimmie, puts her train 
down, pulls up her gloves, arranges her waist 
and sweeps around past Jimmie, who just glances 
up as she passes him and crosses to L. She turns 
to him.) 

Irene. Hello, Jimmie Shannon. 

Jimmie. Hello. 

Irene. You don’t remember me, do you? 
Jimmie. No, I’m sorry. 

Irene. I’m Irene Trevor—Lilly’s sister. 

Jimmie. (Comes down to her) Well, well, well. 
But the last time I saw you you were just a little 
bit of a girl. 

Irene. And now I’m quite grown up—I’m nine¬ 
teen. 


SEVEN CHANCES 83 

Jimmie. Fancy that! Doesn’t seem possible, does 
it ? Well, is there something I can do for you ? 

Irene. Oh, no—I just thought I’d run over to 
the party—and here we are. 

Jimmie. Yes, yes—so I see. (Irene crosses to 
chair r., manages her train with difficulty and sits.) 
Your train doesn’t seem to be running on schedule. 
You’ll pardon me, won’t you? There’s something 
very important I’ve got to attend to—I promised to 
telephone- 

Irene. Wait—tell me, Jimmie—you don’t mind 
my asking—are you engaged yet ? I mean, was there 
some girl you’d always adored in secret and now 
you are free to speak—or are you still waiting? 

Jimmie. No, I’m still waiting. 

Irene. (Rises) Oh, Jimmie, how perfectly thrill- 

a w, I sneaked away all by myself just 
d I did. 

hat did you want to find me for? 

, I don’t know—I just thought I 
res to l.) 

uddenly realizing she might he a pos- 
'lephone hook with a bang and throws 
How old did you say you were ? 
rly twenty. 

ell, then you’re quite old enough to 
i’re doing, 
quite. 

e must see more of one another, 
do—let’s. 

id talk over old times. 

that’ll be fine—I’ve always liked you, 

ell, then, Irene, will you marry me ? 
icks away from him a few steps) 
immie! 

ill you marry me? 





84 SEVEN CHANCES 

Irene. (Comes to him) Of course I’ll marry 
you. 

Jimmie. You will? 

Irene. Yes. 

Jimmie. You really mean you’re accepting me? 

Irene. Yes—I did so hope you’d ask me. 

Jimmie. You’re not going to change your mind— 
back out in a minute or two? 

Irene. No, indeed, Jimmie! Oh, it’s love at first 
sight! 

Jimmie. There’s one thing more—do you care 
enough about me to marry me in an hour—before 
midnight ? 

Irene. Doesn’t that make it perfectly heavenly! 
I know—we must elope! 

Jimmie. Uh! 

Irene. I’d never marry unless I eloped. 

Jimmie. Will it take any longer? 

Irene. No. 

Jimmie. How’ll we elope? 

Irene. Just as they do here. (Indicates book in 
her arm.) Now listen—you must stay here. I’ll 
hurry home and pack a bag—and then in an hour 
I’ll get out the back way- 

Jimmie. I’ll send a car for you. 

Irene. Yes, and I’ll wear a veil—a heavy veil. 
Won’t that be wonderful! (Goes up to l. ) 

Jimmie. In an hour then. 

Irene. Oh, you’ve been perfectly charming! 
(Kisses her hand to him and exits running l.J 

Goddard. (Enters quickly r.) Say, Jim, I can’t 
find a soul! Have you ’phoned ? 

Jimmie. It doesn’t matter—I don’t have to—I’m 
going to marry Irene Trevor. 

Goddard. Irene! Great Scott! Not that little 
kid! Oh, Jimmie, take an older girl. 

Jimmie. Goddard, I’ve done nothing but listen 


SEVEN CHANCES 85 

to advice all evening—now I’m going to follow my 
own judgment. 

Goddard. Oh, I know, Jimmie, but don’t rob the 
cradle! 

Jimmie. I’d rather rob the cradle than the grave. 


CURTAIN 


ACT III 


Scene: Outside the Club—the same night. 

At Rise: Goddard, Joe, Ralph, Georgy, Flor¬ 
ence, Betty, Peggy and Lilly are on stage. 

Joe. How about a little singing? 

Lilly. Oh, I’d rather listen to the music. 

Peggy. Oh, no! 

Betty. “Bring the Wagon Home, Boys.” 
Goddard. Oh, no—“Sweet Adeline.” 

All. Yes, we all know that. 

Joe. Start it, Ralph. 

(They sing “Sweet Adeline” once through and then 
change to ragtime and end up with a whoop.) 

Ralph. (Taking Florence, Peggy and Betty 
aside l. to tell them a story) Oh, girls, I’ve got a 
corking story. A chap went into the Astor to get his 

shoes shined- (And goes on telling them the 

story.) 

Joe. (To Georgy) Come on, Georgy, let’s sneak 
away before the room gets all crowded. 

Georgy. Do let’s. Just think, I haven’t danced 
with anyone but you all evening. 

Joe. Well, you’d better not. 

Georgy. Isn’t it wonderful how happy we are! 
(They exit r. The girls laugh at Ralph’s story.) 

Ralph. Well, if you liked that—listen to this- 

(And goes on telling another story.) 

86 



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Seven Chances” S 66 Page M 








































































* 
























SEVEN CHANCES 87 

(Garrison enters l. from garden. Music plays off 
stage.) 

Goddard. Hello, Garri—what’s the matter? You 
look worried. (To Ralph and girls) There’s only 
an hour left of our gay Ladies’ Day—hadn’t you bet¬ 
ter make the most of it—dance on? 

Betty. Do let’s! Who’ll one-step with me ? 

Florence. Finish the story, Ralph—finish the 
story. 

Ralph. (As they are going) And after the young 
man walked up to the old man, the old man said to 
the young man, “What’s happening ?” and the old 
man said, “I am!” (And they exit r., laughing.) 

Goddard. I thought your wife had corralled you 
and taken you home—where have you been? 

Garrison. Oh, I’ve just been wandering around 
—really, I forgot it was Ladies’ Day. 

Goddard. Where’s Mrs. Garrison? 

Garrison. Why, she’s ill. 

Goddard. She was quite all right an hour ago. 

Garrison. I know—I know—but she wasn’t feel¬ 
ing well. You know that pain—and then when we 
got home—appendicitis—and after all these years. 

Goddard. No wonder you look worried, old man. 

Garrison. You see, she’s never been really ill be- 
fore. 

Goddard. It makes a difference, doesn’t it ? 

Garrison. I should say it does. You said if I 
had a night out I wouldn’t know what to do with it. 
Look at me. 

Goddard. Does Georgy know — she’s still here— 
(Starting.) Shall I- 

Garrison. No— let her have her good time. 
There’s no use worrying her—everything’s being 

d 0116 - T T 

Goddard. (A pause) I wonder if I could get 
you a drink? 


* 


88 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Garrison. No, thanks. I don’t want any. 

Goddard. You don’t want a drink? 

Garrison. (A good deal moved) I’ve lost my 
taste for it somehow. Oh, I don’t know what’s the 
matter with me! They wouldn’t let me stay at the 
house. I’ve just been wandering around. They 
haven’t decided yet whether they’ll operate. I can’t 
tell you how wretched I’ve been this last hour. You 
see—after all, I guess I love her. I’m going back 
to the house now. I don’t know whether they’ll let 
me see her or not— (’ Phone bell) —but if they do, 
Mrs. Garrison’ll doubt where I’ve been—what I’ve 
been doing—whom I’ve been seeing. 

George. (Enters r.) Mr. Garrison wanted on 
the telephone. 

Garrison. (Nervously) Who is it? 

(Garrison trembles and then straightens his shoul¬ 
ders.) 

Goddard. It’s all right, old man. I’ll answer. 
(Goes in to ’phone r. George exits r. with him . 
The music swells and a boy and girl dance 1 on ver¬ 
anda rJ Hello—yes, Mr. Garrison’s right here.— 
Won’t you let me give him the message?—yes. — 
What ?—good-bye! (Comes in excitedly.) Garri— 
she’s all right—it isn’t appendicitis, old man! Don’t 
you hear—she’s all right! (Goes to him and shakes 

him by the shoulders.) 

Garrison. (Dazed) She’s all right- 

Goddard. Fine—and waiting to see you. 

Garrison. (Pulling himself together) Thank 
God! (Turns up, then changes suddenly ) Say, isn’t 
it just like that little devil to worry the life out of 
me this way ? Who asked me to have a drink ? 

Goddard. I did. 

Garrison. ( Crosses to door r.) Well, I’ll take it. 
Come on, Goddard, we’ll drink to the best wife a 



SEVEN CHANCES 89 

man ever had—but the most irritating. (Garri and 
Goddard exit r.) 

(Georgy and Joe dance on from veranda and start 
to run off l. when they see Jimmie coming and 
run up c. and hide as Jimmie enters.) 

Georgy. There’s Jimmie! 

(Goddard enters r., followed by Ralph.) 

Ralph. Oh, Goddard, did I tell you that story 
about the Sunshine Girl ? 

Goddard. Listen, I told you that story yesterday 
myself. 

Ralph. Oh—so you did. (Sees Jimmie and 
crosses to him.) Oh, Jimmie, can I see you? 

Jimmie. I don’t want to hear any stories. 

Ralph. No, it isn’t that—I’ve got to see Betty 
home—her bungalow’s about four miles from here 
and I’ve only got a dollar—lend me five, will you? 

Jimmie. (Hands him a bill) Here’s ten. 

Ralph. Then—oh, thanks! You know, the last 
time I got stuck seeing a beautiful girl home she 
lived in Brooklyn—and believe me, greater love than 
that hath no man. (Exits r.J 

Jimmie. Oh, Goddard, is Anne still here? 

Goddard. Yes, I just saw her dancing.. 

Jimmie. If you get the chance, ask her if she will 
see me out here—alone. Will you, please? 

Goddard. Yes—sure. (Starts, then looks at Jim¬ 
mie and stops.) What’s the trouble, old man— 
Irene ? 

Jimmie. No, that’s all right. 

Goddard. Have you told Meek ? 

Jimmie. No —he’s with his partner. 

Goddard. Then he doesn’t know about Irene. 

Jimmie. No, and if you see him, don’t say any- 


SEVEN CHANCES 


90 

thing about Irene—he might think I was marrying 
her for his sake. 

Goddard. After all, you are, Jim. 

Jimmie. I know—but I’ve got to convince him 
that it’s on my own account and for the money. 

Goddard. I understand. I wonder if there’s any¬ 
thing I can do? 

Jimmie. Yes—tell Anne, will you ? 

Goddard. The fellow on the side lines can*t do 
much but root, and I’m rooting hard. (Exit l.) 

(Lilly enters.) 

Jimmie. Lilly! 

Lilly. (Entering from terrace) Jimmie, do you 
remember what you said to me tonight ? 

Jimmie. Not all of it—I said a good deal. 

Lilly. Oh, you do remember—that I was sacri¬ 
ficing a very great deal for my very slim chance of 
finding the one, one man. 

Jimmie. Oh, yes, I remember that. 

Lilly. Pretty soon, Jimmie, I shall be like these 
flowers—it’s sort of pathetic, isn’t it—for after all— 

Jimmie. They’ll wither where they grow— I re¬ 
member that, too. 

Lilly. And is it right that I should ever be like 
them? Oh, I’ve thought — and thought — and as I’ve 
had my great romance, ought I not forget myself to 
make you happy ? 

Jimmie. No, Lilly—don’t forget yourself. 

Lilly. Perhaps I do dream too much—perhaps 
your plain common sense is right — perhaps I may 
even grow to love you. Jimmie, I will be your wife! 

Jimmie. That’s very sweet of you, Lilly—but 
I’m engaged. 

Lilly. What—you’ve found your great romance 
—and the one girl ? 


SEVEN CHANCES 91 

Jimmie. Well, I found the one girl who’d have 
me. 

Lilly. And now it’s too late. (Crosses to l.J 

Jimmie. Yes, I’m afraid it is. (Goes to r.J 
However, if you’ve nothing important to do, stick 
around—you never can tell what may happen. 

Lilly. Good-bye, Jimmie—life is such a tragedy 
—the world will say I’ve been a fool. (Exits l.) 

Jimmie. Maybe the world is right. 

George. (Enters from terrace with letter) Mr. 
Shannon, a message for you. 

Jimmie. For me? (He takes it.) Did you send 
that car for Miss Irene Trevor as I asked you? 

George. Yes, sir. 

Jimmie. All right—thank you, George. (George 

starts r.J “Dear Darling--” Say, George. 

(George stops.) Are you sure this is for me? 

George. Yes, sir—the lady was most particular, 
sir. (Exits r.) 

Jimmie. (Reading) “Dear Darling: I’ve been 
thinking over your proposal. After all, second 
thoughts are best. I’m sure it is a woman’s noblest 
duty to be the mother of a family—of course, not 
eight or ten, but perhaps four or five—splitting it 
fifty-fifty—I am waiting for you—I am ready. Af¬ 
fectionately, Peggy.” 

(Music. Amne enters r.) 

Anne. Jimmie — Mr. Goddard said you wished to 
see me—and being naturally curious, here I am. 

Jimmie. It’s just that I want you to know some¬ 
thing—and to know it first from me. When you 
accepted me this evening I thought my troubles were 
over—then when you changed your mind, I deter¬ 
mined to let the money go—but I can’t. You see, I 
gave Meekin a stock tip. It’s ruined him. The only 


92 SEVEN CHANCES 

way I can repay him is to marry for the money, so 
I’m engaged. 

Anne. Engaged? 

Jimmie. To Irene Trevor and my birthday's to¬ 
day. 

Anne. Today! 

Jimmie. Yes, the papers had it wrong. I must 
be married by midnight. 

Anne. Well—congratulations, Jimmie. (Shakes 
hands.) 

Jimmie. And you don’t mind about Irene? 

Anne. Why should I ? 

Jimmie. I don’t suppose there’s any reason why 
you should. I hope that some day, Anne, you and 
that fellow—whoever he is—are going to be very, 
very happy. 

Anne. No —we’re not—that’s over. 

Jimmie. I’m sorry, Anne. 

Anne. Are you? (Looks at him thoughtfully, 
then impulsively.) Jimmie—I’m afraid we shan’t see 
much of each other after this- 

Jimmie. Anne—please. 

Anne. Once in a while in the crowd, that’s all— 
so while I have the chance, I’d like to say something. 
May I? 

Jimmie. Anything. 

Anne. Don’t let this money mean too much—get 
something out of life besides what you pay for. 
Make—make Irene happy—and sometimes just re¬ 
member- Good-bye. 

(Meekin enters l. and sees them.) 

Jimmie. Anne, you’re wonderful—adorable! (He 
takes her in his arms. She breaks from him and 
exits r. He turns and sees Meekin.) Meek—what 
about Yukon? 

Meekin. Why, it’s pretty bad, Jim. (Trying to 




SEVEN CHANCES 


93 


carry it off cheerfully.) It isn’t only being broke—I 
don’t mind that—I’ve been broke before—but we’re 
way in debt—and the firm’s in it, too, deep. Bill and 

old man Smith- Smith’s half crazy. (Jimmie 

gives a half-smothered ejaculation and comes over to 
Meekin.) The creditors gave us till Monday to 

straighten things out- Of course I knew we 

hadn’t an earthly chance. 

Jimmie. But I’ll fix all that. 

Meekin. Oh, I knew you’d do anything if you 
had the money—but if you didn't marry tonight— 
and you were pretty emphatic about it—I knew there 
was nothing you could do. And then it suddenly 
came to me that when you heard about Yukon—you, 
you poor old sentimental ass—might do some damned 
silly stunt like marrying some hopeless proposition 
out of idiotic loyalty to me. So I came back. I 
couldn’t let you do that, of course. 

Jimmie. I know, but everything’s all right. I am 
going to marry. 

Meekin. I know you are. 

Jimmie. You know! 

Meekin. Oh, I couldn’t help hearing you tell 
Anne just now that she was wonderful—adorable. 
Jove, when I thought the bottom had dropped out 
of things, to walk in here and find that everything 

is all right for you—for her—for all of us - By 

George, it’s wonderful! 

Jimmie. Yes, but you didn’t understand. 

Meekin. It’s so much better you didn’t take my 
tip about Marjorie White. Anne’s the peachiest girl 

I know. f M _ 

Jimmie. Will you listen to me while I explain. 

Meekin. I feel as if I ought to kiss her by Jove, 
I’m going to - (Crosses him to R.J 

Jimmie. (Catching his arm) No—no—you 

mustn’t see Anne. 

Meekin. Why not? 





94 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Jimmie. Well- 

Meekin. Aren’t you going to be married ? 

Jimmie. (Slowly) Yes— but not to Anne— to 

Irene Trevor. 

Meekin. But just now—-here with Anne? 

Jimmie. I know. 

Meekin. You’re not going to marry that little 
doll-faced baby without any brains ? 

Jimmie. Well, Meek, as long as Eve known you, 
and as well as I’ve liked you, I have never observed 
any quality in you that would lead me to believe you 
were an authority on brains. 

Meekin. You’re doing this just on account of 
your tip to me about Yukon—doing exactly what I 
thought you might. 

Jimmie. No—no—I’m not. 

Meekin. You’ve got to call it off. 

Jimmie. No—I can’t. 

Meekin. You mean you’d like to? (Jimmie 
doesn't answer.) Of course you would! Well, I 
won’t let you marry Irene. I’ll stay right here and 
stop you. I’ll tell her—I’ll tell everybody! 

Jimmie. I thought you wanted me to marry? 

Meekin. I did—but not like this—that baby! 
Jim, it wouldn’t be fair. Do you think I’m going 
to let you ball up your whole life on my account? 
Not in a million years. 

Jimmie. (Wearily) Now see here, Meek; there’s 
no use arguing—it isn’t on your account—it’s on my 
own. Twelve million dollars, with all they stand for 
—do you think I’m going to let them go now when 
they’re so near? 

Meekin. (Incredulous) You mean, you’d do this 
anyway—marry Irene—if it weren’t for Yukon— 
for me? 

Jimmie. Why, certainly—I’m not a fool. 1 want 
that money. Now do you understand? 

Meekin. I’m afraid I do, Jim, but it doesn’t 



SEVEN CHANCES 


95 

sound a bit like you. I’m disappointed in you for 
the first time in my life—mighty disappointed. (He 
exits r. on veranda.) 

Jimmie. Well, if I ever get that money, I’ll have 
earned it. 

George. (Enters r. with suitcase, cap and duster) 
Your suitcase, Mr.' Shannon. 

Jimmie. (Takes them—puts cap on) Thank you, 
George. (George exits r. Irene enters l. and 
comes to Jimmie.) Here you are! I was afraid 
you weren’t coming. 

Irene. Wait a minute, Jimmie. When I got back 
I found this note. (Holds it out.) 

Jimmie. I have no time to read notes now. 

Irene. It isn’t very long. Please read it. 

Jimmie. But it’s getting late. It’s after eleven. 

Irene. It won’t take a second—and it’s very im¬ 
portant—please. 

Jimmie. (Hopelessly opens letter) Very well. 
“Dear Irene: I’ve just patched up the old—old—” 

Irene. (Prompting from memory) Canoe- 

Jimmie. (Reading) “Canoe. It doesn’t leak a 
bit. We went to the camp across the lake today and 
toasted—marshmallows”—that right ? 

Irene. Marshmallows— yes. 

Jimmie. “Marshmallows. I miss you awfully. 
Do come back soon. Emily had a dance last night, 
but I wouldn’t go because you weren’t there. Yours 
respectfully, Billy.” 

Irene. He’s a boy at school, and when I got back 
I found his picture. Look- (She holds it out.) 

Jimmie. (Takes it desperately and reads inscrip¬ 
tion ) “From your devoted admirer, William Long¬ 
fellow Smith.” 

Irene. Isn’t he good looking? He has brown 
eyes—yours are grey, aren’t they?—and oh, I don’t 

know- Somehow it all made me stop and think. 

I don’t believe I can marry you. 




96 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Jimmie. What ! 

Irene. You see, you are really awfully old—I’m 
only sixteen. 

Jimmie. Sixteen! (Puts down suitcase and 
looks at her.) 

Irene. I looked lots older, didn't I? That’s be¬ 
cause I borrowed Lilly’s frock and did my hair up. 
I’m afraid I fibbed a whole lot. I guess I was just 
excited when I said yes. Do you mind awfully? 

Jimmie. No—I guess not. 

Irene. Well, you are nice. I thought you’d try 
and argue me into it. 

Jimmie. No, I guess maybe I am too old—and 
you’re too young—that we didn’t love each other 
enough—that maybe the boy at school- 

Irene. Oh, I’m sure you’re right! When I real¬ 
ized I had to leave father and mother, and that next 
summer I couldn’t go canoeing with Billy or dance 

or talk—not even see him- When I realized I 

had to be with you all the rest of my life—I got 
sort of frightened. I don’t suppose you understand. 

Jimmie. Yes—I think I do. 

Irene. Oh, you have surprised me. I thought 
you’d be terribly upset about the money. 

Jimmie. The money-- I tell you what you do. 

You go on home now, write Billy, tell him it’s all 
right, that you’ll go canoeing again and toast marsh¬ 
mallows and everything’s going to be lovely. 

Irene. Oh, you’re a perfect peach! 

Jimmie. (Looking at watch) You don’t mind 
my hurrying you along—because there are a couple 
of girls around here I’ve got to see in the next ten 
minutes. 

Irene. Oh, no, that’s all right. (Goes to l.J 
Thank you for asking me, Jimmie, but I’m so glad I 
don’t have to marry you. (Exits L.) 

Jimmie. Forty minutes. (Goes r. and calls) Oh, 



SEVEN CHANCES 97 

Peggy—Peggy! (Music starts. Jimmie goes to l. 
and calls) Lilly—oh, Lilly ! 

Florence. (Enters from terrace) Jimmie, did 
you call me? 

Jimmie. I didn’t, but you’ll do. (Takes her down 

c.) 

Florence. I’ve been thinking things over-- 

Jimmie. So have I. Listen, do you think if I 
took up physical culture I could be able to- 

Peggy. (Enters from up r.) Oh, Jimmie ! 

Jimmie. (Crosses her to r.J You’re too late. 

Florence. (Catching him by the arm) What 
does Peggy want? 

Jimmie. That’s what I’m going to find out. 
(Goes up to Peggy.) 

Peggy. I heard you call me, so I suppose you 
couldn’t get away to the terrace. 

Jimmie. No, I couldn’t—just a minute till I get 
rid of Florence. I want to talk to you. (Goes back 
to Florence.) Peggy wants to talk to me—if you’ll 
just wait in there till I get rid of Peggy- 

Florence. I’ll wait right here. 

Jimmie. No—you’d better wait up here. I don’t 
want you to hear. You don’t mind, do you? (Tak¬ 
ing her up r.) 

Florence. I’ll wait forever. 

Jimmie. I won’t be as long as that—about five 
minutes. (Hurries back to Peggy.) Now, Peggy, 
I can tell you how happy your note made me. Four 
or five are plenty. 

Peggy. Oh, Jimmie! 

Lilly. (Enters l.) Jimmie! 

Jimmie. Hello, Lilly. (Takes Peggy to chair r.) 
Pardon me, Peggy—just sit here a second. (Goes 
back to Lilly.) 

Lilly. As I sat out there underneath the stars, I 
thought I heard your voice. 

Jimmie. (Hurries over to Peggy.) Peggy, Lilly’s 




SEVEN CHANCES 


98 

got to talk to me. She’s an old friend. Three min¬ 
utes, then I’ll get rid of her. Just wait here. You 
don’t mind, do you ? 

Peggy. I’ll be right here. (Sits on parapet up c.) 

Jimmie. (Brings Lilly down l.c.J Lilly, are 
you still dreaming of your flower of love? 

Lilly. Indeed I am. 

Jimmie. Here I am. 

Lilly. But, Jimmie, you’re engaged. 

Jimmie. That’s all off. 

Lilly. Then you mean that you and I —— • 

Jimmie. That’s what I’m hoping. 

Betty. (Enters r.) Hello, Jimmie! 

Jimmie. Hello! You’re going? 

Betty. No, I want to talk to you. 

Jimmie. Want to speak to me - One moment. 

(Takes Lilly up l.J Wait for me here a minute, 
will you, Lilly? (Comes back to Betty.) Want to 
speak to me ? 

Betty. I’ve been trying to see you all evening. 

Jimmie. Yes, I have neglected you, haven’t I? I 
suppose you read all about me in the papers ? 

Betty. Yes, Jimmie. 

Meekin. (Enters r.) Oh, Jimmie, I’ve got to 
see you a minute about your grandfather’s will. 
(With one accord the girls turn and look at them.) 

Jimmie. Ssh—ssh! They’ll hear you. 

Meekin. No, they won’t. 

Jimmie. Do you think they’re deaf ? 

Florence. (Coming down) I’m sorry" 

I couldn’t help hearing. 

Peggy. Neither could I. 

Lilly. (Coming down) It was about I (To- 
the will, wasn’t it? f gether) 

Betty. What is it? 

Florence. About Jimmie's grand¬ 
father ? 



SEVEN CHANCES 99 

Meekin. Yes, and naturally, as it’s rather per¬ 
sonal, I ought to see Jimmie alone. 

Jimmie. What’s the difference now—after the 
way you shouted? Go on, they all heard you. 

Meekin. Oh, it’s the limit! 

(Ralph enters and stands in door r.) 

Jimmie. Then it’s bad news? 

Meekin. The worst. I found this telegram in 
the rack for Jimmie. I always open his mail, you 
know. 

Jimmie. Yes—yes? 

Meekin. So I couldn’t believe it—so I called up 
Garrison—just caught him as he came in—and he 
had a wire too from his partners—it’s terrible. 

Jimmie. What’s terrible? 

Meekin. A new will has been found disinheriting 
you. 

Jimmie. What? 

Meekin. It just arrived in this afternoon’s Euro¬ 
pean mail. (Anne enters from terrace and stands 
up c., watching.) Made abroad a few days before 
the old man died—all the money goes to the colleges 
and hospitals. 

Peggy. Do you suppose it’s true? 

Meekin. Of course it’s true—it’s from his law¬ 
yers —you can always believe a lawyer when it’s bad 

news. 

Jimmie. Then I get nothing? 

Meekin. Nothing. (Peggy and Lilly move 
away to l.) 

Jimmie. And after all I’ve been through! (Sinks 
in chair l. All move away in groups.) 

Lilly. (Coming to r. of Jimmie) Never mind, 
Jimmie! After all, money means so little. Good 
night. 

Peggy. I think I must be going. Good night, Mr. 


100 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Shannon. Coming, girls ? (Goes l. with Lilly. ) 

Florence. I’ll come with you. It’s after eleven. 
Coming, Betty? (Goes to girls lJ 

Both. Good night, Jimmie. (The girls exit l. ) 

Ralph. (Shakes Jimmie's hand) Sorry, old man 
—mighty sorry! I’ll give you that five tomorrow. 
(Starts to go. Jimmie holds him back.) 

Jimmie. Ten—I’ll need it. 

Ralph. (As he is going out l.J Wait a minute, 
Betty—I’m seeing you home. 

Jimmie. Meek- (Meekin comes down.) I’m 

mighty sorry, old man! 

Meekin. Don’t you care about me. I’m just 
sorry for you, that’s all. 

Jimmie. Well, we had a great night, anyhow. 
(Meekin pats Jimmie on the shoudler and exits l. 
The girls are heard singing off l. Anne comes 
down.) Anne, all my party is gone and you’re the 
only one who’s left. 

Anne. I’m sorry, Jimmie! What about Irene? 

Jimmie. Oh, that’s all over—there was a boy at 
school. 

Anne. Good for Irene! 

Jimmie. Yes, I was glad, too. 

Anne. And don’t care too much about that van¬ 
ished fortune. 

Jimmie. You’ve made me understand about that. 

Anne. (After a pause) Well, I don’t suppose 
there’s any more to be said, is there? I’m going 
home now—so good-bye. (Goes r.) 

Jimmie. (Crosses to r.) What a corker you are. 
Anne! Why didn’t you stick to your yes ? 

Anne. You ask that now—when there are no 
millions to be got? 

Jimmie. I do indeed. I need someone to love—• 
someone to love me. 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie, Jimmie—are you trying to 
catch me on the rebound ? 



SEVEN CHANCES 


IOI 


Jimmie. Oh, why didn’t you stick to your yes? 

Anne. Only because of the fortune. 

Jimmie. But that’s no reason now—it’s gone. 

Anne. I know it is. 

Jimmie. Anne—when I’ve proved my love— 
when I’ve made you believe in me, perhaps you’ll let 
me come to you then and ask you to be my wife. I 
need you, I want you! 

Anne. Perhaps—perhaps I’ll say yes. 

Jimmie. But what about that fellow you love? 

Anne. Stupid, it’s you! 

Jimmie. Oh, think of all the years I’ve wasted! 
(Starts to embrace her.) 

Meekin. (Enters l.) Hello, there! 

Jimmie. Yes, it would be you at a time like this. 

Meekin. Well, didn’t I tell you I’d fix it ? 

Jimmie. Yes, I should say that telegram certainly 
did fix things. 

Meekin. (Triumphantly) And you thought you 
were getting away with that talk that you were marry¬ 
ing just for the money when all the time I knew it 
was only for me—but now I’ve fixed it. 

Jimmie. You’ve fixed what? 

Meekin. Listen—there isn’t any new will—you 
haven’t lost the money, and I faked the telegram. 

Anne. What? 

Jimmie. Meek, you did that when it meant what 
it did to you ? You’re a prince! 

Meekin. Oh, I’m not so unselfish. I knew you 
were keen about Anne, and after I left you I had a 
chat with Anne. It was a cinch to see how she felt 
about you—so I thought if I got all the others out 
of the way, you and Anne would get together—and 
if you didn’t, I’ve gpt Marjorie White outside. I 
proposed to her for you. She’s accepted. 

Jimmie. Now you have gone and spoiled things! 
Anne was all ready to accept me. Still, it doesn’t 


102 


SEVEN CHANCES 


matter. Anne, in less than an hour I’ll be just Jim¬ 
mie Shannon without any millions. Will you let me 
ask you then—when the money’s really gone for¬ 
ever? 

Anne. When it’s really gone—yes, Jimmie, I will. 

Meekin. Say, what’s the matter with you two? 
Elas falling in love made you both crazy ? Give up 
that money ? Indeed you won’t! 

Anne. Indeed we will. 

Jimmie. I’m going to be just a stock broker. 

Meekin. Well, be a broker—but you don’t have 
to be a fool. Now that you both realize that the 
millions don’t cut any real figure—don’t you think 
you’d be stupid to let them slide ? 

Jimmie, (Looking at Anne) Perhaps he’s right. 

Anne. I’m sure he is. 

Jimmie. Oh, practical Anne! 

Anne. You can do a lot with it, Jimmie—big 
things, real things. 

Jimmie. You bet we can—between us, Anne dear, 
we’ll- 

Meekin. You won’t do much with it unless you 
hustle. 

Jimmie. We’ve still got thirty minutes. 

Meekin. Yes, but hurry up — my car’s outside. 
(Exits L.) 

Jimmie. Gee, Anne, I love you! 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie, that’s so much better than a 
sunset on a summer sea. 

Jimmie. I know it is—because I mean it. I’ve 
learned a whole lot about girls in the last twenty- 
four hours. 

Anne. I should think you might after six of them 
had refused you. 

Jimmie. Six —how did you know? 

Anne. They talked — that’s all. 

Jimmie. Just think what an awful risk I ran— 
suppose I’d married someone else? 


SEVEN CHANCES 


ro3 


Anne. You did take a chance, didn’t you? 

Jimmie. Seven of them—but now I’ve got you— 
my lucky seventh. 

Meekin. (Enters u) Come on—come on— 
hurry up! 

Jimmie. Great Scott, Anne— I can’t marry you! 

Anne. Jimmie! 

Meekin. What do you mean? 

Jimmie. I never thought of it before. 

Meekin. Never thought of what before? 

Jimmie. No license—and look at the time! 

Anne. Oh, Jimmie, how could you! 

Meekin. Never mind the license! The clerk is 
waiting. It’s made out for Marjorie White, but it’ll 
do for you! 


(They exit running l.) 
CURTAIN 


PROPERTY PLOT 
ACT I 


On Set 

Cork linoleum down. 

Arch r. with domed alcove. 

Door in domed alcove r. 

Loving cup over door. 

Iron grillwork over arch r. 

Outside door in domed alcove is seen—* 

I Small writing table with— 

Writing pad. 

Ink-well. 

Paper and envelope rack. 

Writing paper and envelopes. 

Pen rack and pens. 

Check book. 

Blotters. 

Chair at writing table. 

Waste paper basket above writing desk. 

Picture on wall l. of desk. 

Bulletin board on wall above desk. 

Bulletins. 

Score cards. 

Picture on wall r. of desk. 

Niche window in down stage side of alcove r. 
2 Rows of room keys with metal tags hung on 
hooks. 

i Key for Jimmie to take off. 

Mail box with 20 pigeon-holes in up stage side 
of alcove— 

Letters of the alphabet on each pigeonhole. 
104 


SEVEN CHANCES 


105 

Club bill in envelope for Joe Spence in the 
S box. 

Letter stamped and mailed to Billy Meekin 
in the M box. 

Letter stamped and mailed to Jimmie Shan¬ 
non in the S box. 

Letters, papers and packages sent through the 
mail in the other sections. 

3 French windows in arches— r.c., l.c., l. 
Small green shades to draw up and down on 
windows. 

A loving-cup is over each arch on shelf. 

On Porch 

Outside the three French windows are seen 
trailing vines hanging on the openings. 
Outside the French window R.c. are seen— 

1 Large wicker armchair. 

1 Large extension reclining armchair. 

1 Small Japanese tabourette. 

Outside French window l.c. is seen—■ 

1 Large wicker armchair. 

Outside French window l. is seen— 

1 Large wicker armchair. 

1 Cushion on floor in corner of porch. 

On Stage 

Large rotund table down r.c. 

On it— 

Munsey Magazine. 

Tap bell. 

Combination match-stand and ash-tray. 
Armchair back of table. 

2 small chairs, one each side of table. 

Small round table up r.c. 

On it— 

Combination match-stand and ash-tray. 
Cosmopolitan Magazine. 

Small chair r. of table. 


io6 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Small chair l. of table. 

On it— 

Everybody’s Magazine. 

Small round table up c. 

On it— 

Telephone. 

Combination match-stand and ash-tray. 

2 telephone books suspended on hooks un¬ 

derneath—one is a General City Di¬ 
rectory and the other is a Suburban 
Directory, both bound in a special stiff 
cloth covers. 

Small chair r. of table. 

Small round table up l.c. - 
On it— 

Combination match-stand and ash-tray. 
Saturday Evening Post. 

Small chair r. of table. 

Small wicker chair down extreme l., faced 
up stage. 

Large round table L.c. 

On it— 

Pencil. 

Pad of paper. 

Deck of playing cards in white celluloid 
case. 

Combination match-stand and ash-tray. 
Push-button beneath table down stage 
side. 

3 armchairs around table. 

Off Right 

6 New York evening papers (3 Posts, 2 Globes, 
1 Sun) for Joe. 

For Waiter: Tray with 3 Bronx cocktails, 1 
waiter check, 2 serviettes. Tray with 1 
orangeade, I orangeade with serviette on 
plate, 2 Bronx cocktails, 1 iced, 1 waiter 


SEVEN CHANCES 107 

check. Tray repeats with 2 Bronx cock¬ 
tails, 1 waiter check. 

Off Left 

Bag of golf sticks for Waiter. 

Hand Props for Jimmie 

Matches in small vest pocket. 

Match safe. 

2 Cigars. 

1 Address notebook and pencil. 

Paper money. 

For Meekin 

2 Cigars. 

2 Cigarettes. 

I Address notebook and pencil. 

For Goddard 
1 Cigar. 

6 Cigarettes. 

For Garrison 
1 Cigar. 

1 Cigarette. 

1 Umbrella. 

For Joe 

3 Cigarettes. 

Money in bills and coins. 

Cigarette case. 

Match safe. 

For Anne 

Black leather-covered sketching pad. 

Pencil. 


ACT II 


On Set 

Same set as Act I. , -p. 

The room is now decorated for Ladies Day. 
Over the arch R. on the grillwork is hung a large 


io8 


SEVEN CHANCES 


green banner with a large round monogram 
beneath on which are the words, Ladies' Day 
1916 in white letters. 

2 Rosettes are either side of banner. 

The banner and rosettes are festooned with red 
flowers. 

In dome are four green drapes hung from shelf 
beneath four black bowls which are filled with 
red flowers. 

Green silk curtains in window and mail-box. 

Red vase filled with black twigs in mail-box. 

Over the French window R.c. a black painted tro- 

phy. 

Over the French window l,c. a standing cupid fes¬ 
tooned with red and green flowers. 

Over French window l. black painted loving cup. 

The shades on French windows are now lowered 
to mark and each have a red flower fastened 
to where the cord is attached. 

Between the French windows and in the corners 
of the room and on the down stage comers of 
the returns are green draperies hung from 
the ceiling strung on a large brown rope cord 
which extends around the corner of the ceil¬ 
ing of the room, each drapery is decorated 
with long white cords tipped with red flowers. 

French window r.c. is closed at rise and the French 
windows l.c. and l. are open. 

Strike 

Large round table r.c. 

Large round table l.c. 

Small table up r.c. 

Small table up l.c. 

All chairs. 

Move Telepnone table down to r.c. 

Put telephone box on top of it. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


109 

Move telephone box to ring on cue to up r.c. on 
baseboard on wall. 

Bring On 

Wicker 3-seat to l.c. decorated with flowers. 

Japanese tabourette to r.c. 

Wicker armchair with cushion which was outside 
French window l.c. to l. of tabourette. 

Wicker armchair which was outside French win¬ 
dow l. to r. of tabourette. 

Small chair to up r.c. for Jimmie to bring down. 

Table with punch-bowl with punch to drink to 
up c. 

Decorated with yellow covers festooned with green 
flowers. 

12 Punch glasses. 

Punch bowl festooned with red flowers. 

Large banquet table to outside French window up 
l.c. (This table is divided into two sections 
so that it can be struck outside porch in two 
sections.) 

1 Large tablecloth on each section. 

I Lamp basket with smilax streamers running 
down between each place. 

6 Table lamps with six shades lighted. 

12 Demitasse cups, saucers and spoons. 

12 Napkins. 

12 Liquer glasses. 

12 Champagne glasses with effervescent apple 
cider to drink. 

12 Place cards. 

6 Corsage bouquets of orchids and lilies of the 
valley for the ladies. 

6 Fans for the ladies. 

4 Slender silver vases filled with flowers. 

9 Chairs about table. 

3 Cushions on parapet of porch to complete the 
twelve places about table. 


no 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Tall red and black jardiniere with black twigs 
down l. in front of drapery. 

Hand Props 

White gardenia boutonieres for the men. 

Bunch of violets for Lilly. 

Off l. 

Robert Chambers novel for Irene. 

ACT III 


On Set 

The Porch of the Club. 

On the ceiling is an inverted red silk dome with 
four streamers of buttercups and daisies 
strung from it and fastened about three feet 
from the corners on the ceiling. 

French window R. 

Porch opening up r. to other part of porch off 
r. seen through the French windows r. 
Green curtains are hung on porch opening 
up R. 

Up c. is an opening in the parapet of porch 
which leads down steps to the terrace. 

Opening in parapet of porch l. to off l. 

Draped over the French window R. is a festoon 
of buttercups and daisies. 

Through the French window r. is seen a wire 
screen decorated with green leaves. 

On either side of French window r. is a potted 
twig bush five feet high with red flowers on 
top tips of twigs and the bush is tied to a red 
pole stuck in the pot. 

Through porch opening up r. are seen a red 
cushion on parapet of porch and a yellow 
cushion on floor. 

In upper r. corner is a tall twig tree in pot with 
a green lantern lit hung on a goose-neck wire 
fastened to trunk. 


SEVEN CHANCES in 

On either side of this tree is a basket of red 
flowers, one on the floor r. of it and one on 
the parapet of the porch l. of it. 

There is a festoon of buttercups and daisies 
strung from this tree into each basket and 
onto the floor. 

I Pink and I purple cushion on parapet of 
porch up R. of c. opening. 

I Blue and I pink cushion on parapet of porch 
up l. of c. opening. 

There is a bamboo canopy hung oyer c. open¬ 
ing strung with trailing and hanging vines. 

In upper l. comer there is another tree (du¬ 
plicate of the one up R. in corner). 

On either side of this tree is a basket of red 
flowers, one on the parapet of the porch r. 
of it and one on the parapet of the porch L. 
of it. 

There is a festoon of buttercups ana daisies 
strung from this tree into baskets and onto 
the floor. 

On Set 

i Light green cushion on parapet of porch up l. 

Down l. at corner of return is another potted 
twig tree taller than the others according to 
height of the rake of the ceiling at this point 
and it also has a green lantern hung out on a 
goose-neck wire attached to the trunk. 

On either side of this tree is a basket of red 
flowers, one on the parapet of porch R. of it 
and one on the floor below it. 

There is a festoon of buttercups and daisies 
strung from this tree into each basket and 
onto the floor. 

On Stage 

Wicker armchair with blue cushion down R.c. 


112 


SEVEN CHANCES 


Extension reclining wicker chair up R.c. with i 
purple and i buff cushion. 

Wicker armchair up l. with i green cushion. 
Wicker armchair down l.c. with odd red cush¬ 
ion. 

Off Right 
For Waiter 
Suitcase. 

Automobile duster. 

Auto cap. 

For Meekjn 

Telegram in envelope. 

Off Center 
For Waiter 

Written letter page. 

Silver salver. 

Off Left 
For Irene 

Robert Chambers novel same as Act II. 

Written letter page. 

Photo of young man with the inscription: 
“From your devoted admirer, 

“William Longfellow Smith/" 


LIGHT PLOT 


ACT I 

Foot Lights 

One circuit amber full up. 

Tormentors 

Four 500 Watt babies r. and l. Amber and 
frost. 

One 150 Watt chaser r. and l. Amber. 

Left Side, First Entrance 

One five-light amber strip. 

One 1000 Watt nitro lense amber on door. 

One four light 250 Watt each bunch amber on 
wood wing. 

Second Entrance 

One four light bunch of 250 Watt each front 
and amber. 

Porch 

Two reflectors on either side of l.c. door. Am¬ 
ber. 

Right Side, First Entrance 
One five light amber strip. 

One 500 Watt baby on window. Amber. 

Porch 

One four light bunch of 250 Watt each. Frost 
and amber. 

Back Drop, r. side 

One four light bunch of 250 Watt each. Am¬ 
ber. 

One 1000 Watt nitro lense. Amber. 

One 12 light amber strip on floor. 

113 


SEVEN CHANCES 


114 


Center 

One 12 light amber strip on floor. 

One 6 light strip of 250 Watt each. Amber 
hanging. 

Left side 

One 12 light amber strip on floor. 

One four light bunch of 250 Watt each. Frost 
and amber. 

Inside Set 

Concert border. 

Two hanging lamps. 

Telephone up stage c. and bell box. 

ACT II 

Foot Lights 

One circuit amber open down on dimmer, on cue 
up to one-half, then slowly up to three- 
quarters. 

One circuit blue opening one-half up. 

Borders 

Concert border open on mark and come up full 
up on the same cue as amber foots. 

Cue for both — 

Directly after dinner scene Waiter comes on 
and presses push button r. side of stage. 
Borders in two, three and four, three circuits 
blue full up. 

Two 6 light strips of 250 Watt each hanging 
on fourth border blue. 

Left Side, First Entrance 
One 12 light blue strip. 

^ One 4 light bunch 250 Watt each blue. 

Third Entrance 
One ripple on back drop. 

Right Side, First Entrance 
One 5 light amber strip. 

One 500 Watt baby amber on window. 



SEVEN CHANCES 


“S 


Porch 

Two reflectors, amber, on either side of l.c. 
door so placed to cover table. 

Two 4 light bunch lights of 250 Watt each, blue, 
on either side of l.c. door. 

One 500 Watt baby, amber and frost, on L. 
side of l.c. door so placed to cover Mr. 
Craven at table. 

Six table lamps distributed around table. 

One flower basket with three 40 Watt amber 
lamps in center of table. 

Cue for Porch Lights 

Waiter pulls slip connector on table lamps and 
flower basket center of table. Stand ready 
to pull plugs on reflectors, bunches and the 
500 Watt baby on Mr. Craven with him. 

Porch, Right Side 

One four light bunch of 250 Watt each, blue, 
on extreme r. side. 

Back Drop, Right Side 

One 4 light bunch of 250 Watt each, blue, on 
back drop. 

Inside of Set 

Two hanging baskets. 

One hanging wreath. 

Cue for both — 

Out at rise, come on when Waiter presses but¬ 
ton on r. side of stage. 

One telephone on table r. 

Bell-box on set r., and magnet outside to ring 
box on cue. 

ACT III 


Foot Lights 

Open amber foot one-eighth up and work up 
slowly to one-half during “Sweet Adeline” 
song. 


SEVEN CHANCES 


116 

Borders 

Second and third border and hanging strips, 
blue, full up at rise. 

Concert border opens on mark and works slow¬ 
ly up with the foots during “Sweet Ade¬ 
line” song to mark. 

Left Side, First Entrance 

Two 4 light bunches of 250 Watt each, blue, on 
wood wing. 

One 1000 Watt nitro lense, blue and frost, on 
chair c. stage. 

Second Entrance 

One 4 light blue bunch of 250 Watt each. 

One 1000 Watt nitro blue on stairs on stage. 

Seven orange lanterns so arranged to start at 
arch l. with the tallest and to finish back 
of stairs with the smallest. 

Right Side, First Entrance 

One 4 light amber bunch to shine on stage. 

Up Back Center 

Ripple on center of drop. 

Inside of Set 

One bracket hanging over door r. 

One basket in center of ceiling. 

Three green lanterns on trees. 

Tormentors 

Open on mark and work slowly up to mark 
during “Sweet Adeline” song. 


BACK DROP 



SCENE DESIGN-ACT I 











SEVEN CHANCES 

SCENE DESIGN-ACT IT 


I 



1 


BACK drop 











f 






















Tlie Famous Mrs. Fair 

A Play in 4 acts. By James Forbes, author of “The Com- 
muters , The Traveling: Salesman”, ete. 3 males, 10 females 
2 ^ eriors *. Costumes modem. Plays 2y> hours. 

I. 8 ’ f air , was a major abroad and won a medal for bravery. 
Her husband was displeased when Mrs. Fair came home to a 
fame which lifted her out of his life. The dissatisfaction grew 
as she became absorbed in public functions. Mr. Forbes traces 
°w the ri ! t betwe en husband and wife with great 
tbo m i l first two a ^ ts * These are Hghfc comedy. In the third 
{I 1 ® m . ood becomes serious and we find that Mrs. Fair’s absence 
ha8 se L tlie husband to philandering and the daugh- 

efforts Ind «* d * onlv trough the joint 

morts ot husband and wife to save the girl from dancer is 
harmony again established. aanger, is 

Price,*”™ cents? dy ’ written with keen insight. Royalty, $35.00. 

Mottling Bet the Truth 

Comedy in o acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males <1 fe- 
males. Costumes, modern. 2 interiors. Plays 2% hours! 

is it Possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twentv- 

the^Truth”' U le f st , Bob Be «nett, hero of “Nothing But 

the Truth , accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his 

Wmiam cITmeFs f nd th 1 trouble bo got into is the subject of 
Truth” r^in bl jf?? !' 8 comedy hit. “Nothing But the 
most snri-htH * ear i tedly cocommended as one of the 

Price, 60 'cents. illg and p °l ,ular comedies. Royalty, $25.00. 

On the Hiring Line 

5 mXf d 4 femile« t8, i b T f Harvey O’Higgins and Harriet Ford, 
hours! ’ 4 * eraales - 1 interior. Costumes, modern. Plays 2%, 

. . SbermaT i Fessenden, unable to induce servants to remain at 

S”aS,r e ' "“ S ’" ,0n “** “W"™* »' engaitag de” cMveJ 

His second wife, an aetress, weary of the country, has suc¬ 
ceeded m discouraging every other cook and butier against 

that 1 imun tiw life , 8he . Avi!1 convince her hulband 

! !V i l 1 1 fe i8 x dead * &° she is deeply disappointed when 

she fimls she cannot discourage the new servants. 1 

1 he sleuths, believing they are called to report on those livlmr 
with the Fessendens, warn Fessenden that his wife has been 

rS£nn1nl°7; n °i te9 fr °% an a « tor «end, and that Ms daughter 
is planning to elope with a supposed thief. 

One sleuth causes an uproar making a mess of the sitnnti^na 

he has vv tnessed Fessenden, however, has learned a Te^in 

and Is . Wll hng: to leave the servant problem to his wife 

Price, J 75° cent!^ rU " 9 N ® W York and Chicago. Royalty, $25.00. 


SAMUEL, FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed 
T re© on Bequest 



Daddy Long-Legs 

A charming: comedy in 4 acts, by Jean Webster. 6 males, 
9 females, and 6 orphans, but by easy doubling: of some char¬ 
acters, may be played by 4 males, 4 females and 8 orphans* 
The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played 
by small girls. 4 easy interiors. Costumes modern. Plays 
hours. 

The New York Times wrote the following: 

‘‘If you will take your pencil and write down, one below 
the other, the words delightful, charming, sweet, beautiful and 
entertaining, and then draw a line and add them up, the answer 
will be ‘Daddy Long-Legs’. To that result you might even add 
brilliant, pathetic and humorous, but the answer even then 
would be just what it. was before—the play which Miss Jean 
Webster has made from her book, ‘Daddy Long-Legs*. To at¬ 
tempt to describe the simplicity and beauty of ‘Daddy Long- 
Legs* w r ould be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter.” 

Enjoyed a two-years’ run in New York and was then toured 
for over three years. Royalty, $35.00. Price, 75 cents. 


To the Ladies 

A hilarious comedy in 3 acts, by George S. Kaufman and 
Marc Connelly. 11 males, 3 females. 3 interiors. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2^4 hours. 

The authors of “Dulcy” have divulged a secret known to 
every woman—and to some men, though the men don’t admit it. 

The central figures are young Leonard Beebe and his wife 
Elsie, a little girl from Mobile. Leonard is the average young 
American clerk, the kind who read all the “Success” stories in 
the magazines and believe them. Elsie has determined to make 
him something more. She has her hands full—even has to 
make an after dinner speech for him—but she does it and the 
play shows how. 

Helen Hayes played Elsie and Otto Kruger impersonated 
Leonard in New York, where it ran a whole season. Here’s a 
clean and wholesome play, deliciously funny and altogether a 
diverting evening’s entertainment. Royalty, $25.00, Price, 75 
cents. 

Three Live Ghosts 

Comedy in 3 acts by Frederick Isham and Max Marcin. 6 
males, 4 females (2 policemen). 1 interior throughout. Cos¬ 
tumes, modern. Plays Zy 2 hours. 

“Three Live Ghosts” is brim full of fun and humor and is 
sure to keep audiences in gales of laughter. The New York 
critics described it as the most ingenious and amusing comedy 
of the season, genuinely funny. It played a full season in’ 
New York, then toured the big cities. A lively comedy of merit. 
Royalty, $25.90. Price, 75 cents. 


i 

SAMVEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed 
Free oa Reguest 








FRENCH'S 


Standard Library Edition 

Includes Plays by 

Booth TarMngten 
J. Hartley M ann em 
James Forbes 
lames Montgomery 
Wa C. de Mille 


Clyde Fitch 
William Gillette 


Augustas Thomas 
George Broadhurst 
Edward E. Kidder 
Percy MacKaye 
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 
Louis N. Parker 
R C. Carton 
Alfred Sutro 
Richard Harding Davis 
Sir Arthur W. Pinero 
Anthony Hope 
Oscar Wilde 
Haddon Chambers 
Jerome K, Jerome 
Cosmo Gordon Lennon 
H. V. Esmond 
Mark Swan 
Grace L. Furniss 
Marguerite Merrington 
Hermann Sudermaan 
Rida Johnson Young 
Arthur Law 
Rachel Crothers 
Martha Morton 
H. A. Du Souchet 
W. W. Jacobs 
Madeleine Lucette Ryley 


Roi Cooper Megrae 
Edward B. Rose 
Israel Zangwill 
Henry Bernstein 
Harold Brighouse 
Charming Pollock 
Harry Durant 
Winchell Smith 
Margaret Mayo 
Edward Peple 
A. B. W. Mason 
Charles Klein 
Henry Arthur Jones 
A. E. Thomas 
Fred. Ballard 
Cyril Hareourt 
Carlisle Moore 
Ernest Denny 
Laurence Houstnan 
Harry James Smith 
Edgar Selwyn 
Augustin McHugh 
Robert Housum 
Charles Kenyon 
C. M. S. McLeHan 


French’s International Copyrighted Edition 
tains plays, comedies and farces of international 
reputation; also recent professional successes by 
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Send a four-cent stamp for our new catalogue 
describing thousands of plays. 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Oldest Play PuhUsher fa the World 

MM West mtk Street, MEW YORK OMT 





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